


we'll be looking for sunlight, or the headlights

by restless5oul



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Awkward Romance, Brotherly Love, Clothes Sharing, Fluff, M/M, Modern Royalty, Plot twists abound, Road Trips, Roman Holiday Inspired, a bit of angst, bed sharing, vague smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:18:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: "i’m not looking to run away. just get away for a little bit.”the hitchhiker mick just picked up is a prince of monaco. he doesn't know that. things get more complicated from there.





	1. did you, uh, want a lift?

**Author's Note:**

> this is a story i started totally on a whim, with no idea of where it was going, and as it stands i'm still rewriting bits as i go along. it's mostly for my own enjoyment since i know this is a rare pair, but if you are reading this i hope you enjoy it anyway. don't ask me how long this is going to be, i honestly don't know.

Charles was sure this had to be close to the most clichéd thing he had ever done. No, this had to be _the_ most cliché thing. He was a the epitome of every fed up, privileged boy who had walked the earth before him. But he thought after a lifetime of willing obedience he was allowed to indulge himself. And he really wanted to leave, and this had been the best he could come up with in a short amount of time.

 

He couldn’t help but cringe when he imagined what his brothers would say if they saw him – in the process of attempting to scale the palace wall, a oversized baseball cap threatening to fall from his head, and a too-small leather jacket stretched taut across his back (a purchase from the fifteen minutes of rebelliousness he had flirted with when he was sixteen; the jacket had been stuffed at the back of his wardrobe ever since). Nico, his eldest brother would most likely just shake his head and say something which was fundamentally nice, but which would come off as patronising. Pierre, meanwhile, would probably laugh his ass off, and take photos, which would be splattered, not just across the internet, but also in every family album and every picture frame they owned.

 

Charles swung his trailing leg over the wall and tentatively lowered himself onto the grass, teetering on the landing. The first part of his plan had been completed successfully, and without any embarrassing photographic evidence. Unfortunately, the plan he had in his head didn’t progress much beyond his point. Dusting himself off, he glanced in both directions just to make sure that there was no one around – which there wasn’t – and set off in the direction of the town centre.

 

His thinking was that while his chances of being recognised if he was in Monaco were pretty high, once he was over the border then it was less likely. Or so he hoped. He just had to figure out how to do that. The obvious choice was the train, but he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to buy a ticket and get aboard without being seen, even if the hat he was wearing kept slipping over his eyes. The black hat, black jeans, and black leather jacket were all choices he was beginning to regret as the midday sun beat down on his back.

 

The only other option he could think up was hoping someone drove past him and hitch a ride. But that one had a high risk of him ending up dead. Yet it was far easier to talk one person out of not mentioning that they had seen him, than attempting to walk through a crowded train station.

 

As if fate was keeping an eye on him a car appeared down the road, heading away from the city. He had a split second to weigh up his options, and before he could think about it too carefully – after all weren’t these sort of spontaneous decisions supposed to be done on a whim – he stuck his hand out and prayed that whoever was driving the car wasn’t an axe murderer.

 

There was a second where he thought they didn’t spot him and were going to drive right on by, but the car, came to a rather abrupt stop beside him, kicking us dust and pebbles as the brake squealed. It wasn’t an exceptionally flashy car, but it looked well cared for, like it had been recently cleaned. It certainly didn't demand attention the way the cars that filled Charles' family garage did.

 

“Did you, uh, want a lift?” the person driving the car asked, clearly Charles’ surprise that they had actually stopped showed on his face. The driver looked young, really young, in fact he couldn’t have been much older than Charles’ twenty one. He had been wearing sunglasses, which were now perched atop his blonde head of hair, revealing a pair of light blue eyes, and a kind face. Charles had to remind himself that a nice smile didn’t necessarily mean he was a good person.

 

Before he answered the young Monegasque studied his face for a moment, looking for any signs that the man (boy?) knew who he was. Or that he wanted to kill him. But he could find neither recognition, nor any murderous tendencies.

 

“Yes. Please,” he said, pushing the brim of his cap back so it wasn’t obscuring his face, looking for any sudden sign of dawning comprehension on the driver’s own face.

 

“Where are you going?” he asked, reaching over the open the passenger door, which Charles took as his cue to get in.

 

“Anywhere, just anywhere that isn’t Monaco.”

 

“Fleeing the country? Am I harbouring a fugitive now?” the young man laughed, starting the car and continuing on up the road, vaguely in the direction of France.

 

“Something like that,” Charles muttered, sure that if his brothers did realise he was gone, which likely would not be for several hours, the search parties would be in full force in a matter of minutes. With any luck he could escape for a few hours without them noticing, and get back before they even knew he had left – though getting back wasn’t actually something he had worked out yet - it wasn’t too unusual for the two of them to not see their youngest brother for hours at a time, with them being so busy. The man sat next to him didn’t seem to hear his comment as he tapped something into his phone, a sight which made Charles a little nervous, even if there were no other cars in sight.

 

Now he was in the car, and travelling away from the suffocating confines of the palace, which he loved and hated in equal measure, the first thing he did was take off the ridiculous jacket and hat, trying his best to fix his hair without a mirror.

 

“Not really dressed for the weather are you?” his newly appointed driver laughed again, a light, carefree sound, “I’m Mick by the way, Mick Betsch.”

 

There was a slight hesitation in his voice as he introduced himself, perhaps he had the same reservations that Charles did. That he had just invited a complete psychopath into his car.

 

“I’m Charles-…” his surname sat on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped short. While Mick might not have recognised him by his face, he didn’t want to risk giving him such a familiar surname.

 

“No last name?”

 

“Just Charles is fine.”

 

“Mysterious,” Mick joked, though he must have had a million questions running through his head at that moment. Charles couldn’t think of a way to assure him that he wasn’t going to be trouble, especially since he was benefitting from his kindness.

 

“I’m not crazy by the way,” he said earnestly, which just made him sound completely mental, of course.

 

“Are you sure? You were stood by the side of the road, dressed like you really don’t want to be recognised, you don’t have a last name, _and_ all you want me to do is get you out of the country. I know what you are,” Mick wagged his finger in that universal sign of someone who wasn’t being fooled.

 

Charles held his breath, ready for his identity to be revealed, and the barrage of questions that came with that. While he was sure he could deal with that, he actually quite liked the idea of pretending to be someone else, someone totally anonymous, even if only for a little while.

 

“Yeah?” Charles asked, the nerves evident in his voice.

 

“You’re a spy!”

 

Mick laughed like it was one of the funniest things he’d said in a while, and Charles sighed a breath of relief.


	2. she's dead

“There we are! Officially outside of Monaco’s borders,” Mick pointed at the sign which told them they were entering now France. Even with the familiar air, the landscape so like the one he had grown up with, and the sea, which was just visible, identical to the one he saw from his window each morning, Charles felt a little freer than he had done before he’d climbed over the palace wall.

 

“Was there somewhere you were heading?” Charles asked him, resting his arm on the side of the car, leaning his head into his hand.

 

“Um no not really, I was just out for a drive, I’m staying in Nice,” again Mick sounded unsure, but if he was being dishonest, Charles really couldn’t judge him, lest he want to be branded a hypocrite, “If you like I can just drop you at the train station.”

 

“No!” Charles protested, probably a little too quickly and aggressively. He turned to Mick, shaking his head rapidly, earning him a concerned look, like he worried his head might come loose, “No, sorry, just, somewhere quiet, I’m not looking to run away. Just get away for a little bit.”

 

Mick raised his eyebrows, before shaking his head a little, chuckling to himself.

 

“Okay…We’ll just drive then.”

 

“Sure?” Charles’ answer should have sounded decisive, but it came out more like a question.

 

“Yeah look,” Mick nodded his head towards the road ahead, and the junction that they were heading towards, “Right or left?”

 

“What?” he laughed, unable to tell if he was being serious.

 

“Right or left?”

 

“Um, right?”

 

Mick didn’t say anything but duly took the right hand turning, sending them down the highway, heading towards a destination unknown to both of them.

 

“Now we drive,” Mick repeated.

 

“Don’t you have places to be?” Charles asked him, finding it hard to believe that he would just drive him around aimlessly.

 

“Not particularly,” glancing to his right he caught sight of Charles’ raised eyebrow, “Besides, it was you who needed the lift.”

 

Charles felt a little sceptical. He could practically hear Nico’s incredulous voice in his ear, ranting about how he couldn’t let a total stranger drive him to God knows where, and in his eldest brother’s voice, it did sound completely insane. But he could also hear Pierre, egging him on to do something reckless in his life for once. And it did sound inviting. He could count the amount of times on one hand that he had done something thoughtless. Years of gladly doing as he was told earned him this, or so he thought. Besides, there was something inside Charles that told him he could trust Mick, and he wanted to believe in his intuition.

 

“So long as you promise not to kill me and dump my body in the ocean.”

 

“Cross my heart.”

 

Still feeling a little uneasy, Charles sat back in his seat, forcing himself to relax. The man next to him obviously didn’t know who he was, so he had nothing to worry about. And truthfully, besides from university, now he was older, Charles spent little time with anyone his own age. When he did everyone was painfully aware of who he was, and what that meant, it was nice to not carry around that expectation.

 

“But, if I’m going to be your chauffeur, I get to ask you a few questions,” he declared, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, flicking the sunglasses down over his eyes as they began to drive into the sunlight. Charles snapped his head to his left, an uneasy panic rising in him at the thought of having to lie his way out of an inquisition.

 

“Relax, you can decline to answer, ‘no comment’ and all that. You can ask me all you like in return, if you want.”

 

“Okay…” Charles agreed, still holding some uncertainty regarding this arrangement, “So like 20 questions?”

 

“Yeah sure, if you want to put it that way.”

 

As they drove, the French countryside melting into Italian, until Charles couldn’t have possibly said where they were, or where they were going, he answered Mick’s questions. He was careful to skate around the finer details, and blur out the more obvious truths. He admitted that he was Monegasque, that he had two older brothers, that he was probably too cautious for his own good (this excursion aside), and that _no_ , he really wasn’t a spy. He told him his birthday, his favourite colour (red), that he could play the guitar, and that he went to business school but what he really wanted to study was architecture. There was something thrilling, and terrifying, about telling Mick about himself, like at any moment he might say too much and the whole truth would come tumbling out. But there was something about the way Mick asked that kept him talking.

 

In return, he learnt that Mick’s parents were from Germany, and though he had been born in Switzerland, he considered himself German. He told him that he had one sister, and his one passion in life was cars; something he got from his father. He also learnt that Mick was only twenty, his favourite colour was also red and that he was scared of spiders. Mick told him that his parents often said that he didn’t take life seriously enough and that he’d had trouble paying attention in school so hadn’t gone to university. He didn’t say why he was staying in Nice, or why he had been taking a drive through Monaco. But Charles found that he didn’t want to ask.

 

“Ok, you don’t have to answer this one, but, honestly, why were you standing at the side of the road? Why do you want to ‘get away’?” Mick made air quotes with his free hand, and his expression was a mix of both thoughtful and nervous, like he was afraid of offending Charles.

 

“I…” he paused, looking over at Mick who was now watching the road ahead, but seemed to be aware of the pair of eyes on him, “My brother wants me to get married.”

 

“What?!” Mick exclaimed so loudly and incredulously that he accidentally lurched the car to the left and onto the opposite side of the road.

 

“Watch it!” Charles shouted in panic, instinctively reaching over and placing his hands on top of Mick’s and turning the steering wheel sharply to the right again. He stayed that way for a few seconds as his heartbeat slowed to normal, the fright wearing off, though he quickly moved back to his own seat when he realised how far he was leaning into Mick. He just counted his lucky stars that there hadn’t been any oncoming traffic. The last thing the world needed was his dead body turning up at the scene of a car accident in a strange car with a stranger driving it.

 

In context, what Charles had just revealed didn’t sound that strange. But for any ordinary young man, the idea that their brother was ordering their marriage was bizarre to say the least. It wasn’t common knowledge that the Monegasque royal family were planning to announce the engagement of the youngest son, and Charles didn’t think he’d said those words out loud before. They sounded so much more real once they were out in the open, they were unavoidable. From the moment he announced it to a room full of journalists and photographers at the press conference that was due to be held the following day, he couldn’t take it back.

 

Not that he would, he was fully aware that this was just life, he had always known that. This decision had been on the table for some time too, and Charles had never once resisted, like he could have done months ago. But realising that the finality of his decision had crept up on him, well, it had sent him into bit of a panic, to say the least.

 

“And I guess this isn’t a good thing?” Mick said, breaking the silence which Charles had unintentionally placed them in, so lost in his thoughts.

 

“It’s not… _bad_. It’s just…” he didn’t have the words to describe it. He couldn’t say anymore without getting too close to the truth, “Complicated.”

 

It was a rubbish explanation.

 

“Is it a rich people thing?” Mick asked, rather suddenly.

 

“What?” Charles laughed, once again sure he must have heard Mick incorrectly.

 

“You know, the whole alliances through marriage thing, to secure your family’s power or whatever,” Mick caught the incredulous expression on Charles’ face, which truthfully was because of how close to the truth he was treading, but probably read as utter confusion at his line of thinking, “You’re from Monaco! Of course you’re loaded.”

 

Again, he wasn’t exactly wrong.

 

“Not everyone in Monaco is a millionaire!” Charles protested defensively.

 

“Come on, your sunglasses cost more than my entire wardrobe.”

 

Charles had to laugh at that. The guard which had come up when he had been afraid he couldn’t hide who he was fell again. Mick didn’t bring up Charles’ revelation again, instead their talk was filled with favourite music, TV shows and movies. It was so utterly normal, like the way Charles could talk with his brothers. He didn’t know if he’d ever had it with someone outside of his family before. Maybe when he had been much younger. But not anymore.

 

They were coming up to the outskirts of a town when the engine, which had been running at a gentle hum, the background music to their conversation, started to make a noise which sounded an awful lot like coughing and spluttering, the car slowing down with it. Mick managed to steer the car into the layby, where the engine finally died and the two of them were left sitting in an unmoving car. Now that the soft rumbling of the car had gone, there was almost total silence, save for the very distant sound of the sea and a dog barking somewhere out of sight. As far as Charles could see, there wasn’t a building or a person in sight.

 

“ _Scheiße_ ,” Mick muttered, running his hands through his hair. Charles almost wanted to laugh, if it weren’t for the fact that Mick looked so frustrated.

 

“What happened?” Charles asked, having absolutely no knowledge about cars beyond what was needed to earn him his driver’s license.

 

“Not sure, I’ll have a look,” Mick said, climbing form the car, but before he could reach the bonnet to open it, the silence was cut through by the sound of a phone ringing. For a horrifying second he thought it was his own, which was stashed away in the inside of his jacket, before he realised it was coming from Mick’s pocket.

 

“Sorry, one minute,” he apologised, pulling the ringing phone from his pocket.

 

Charles wasn’t sure what to do with himself as Mick talked on the phone a few feet away. Bundling his jacket up in his lap, he did catch sight of the keys which were still in the ignition, and told him that the car was a rental. Which perhaps wasn’t too surprising, since Mick clearly wasn’t from around here. Before he could think on it any further, his attention was drawn to Mick who had raised his voice all of a sudden.

 

“No, no, I don’t know yet!” Mick was saying, looking a little annoyed, like he wasn’t being understood, “Forget I said anything ok? Just give me some time.”

 

Charles frowned, but Mick seemed to notice he had attracted his attention because he lowered his voice again. Whoever he was talking with didn’t seem particularly pleased, Mick was sporting a rueful expression, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in the sheepish way children did when they were being told off. It just made him all the more curious about what was going on, and Mick himself.

 

He only realised he had been staring at the German when he hung up, stuffing the phone in his pocket, and turning to meet Charles’ eye.

 

“Everything okay?” he asked, trying his very best not to look embarrassed at being caught looking.

 

“Yeah s’fine,” he shrugged, and with Charles could see him wrestling with whatever was happening, before throwing it from his mind. The infectious smile back upon his face, he returned to the front of the car and as he threw open the bonnet, a plume of smoke unfurled from the machine inside.

 

“That…doesn’t look good,” Charles commented, getting out to stand beside Mick, feeling useless sat inside the car.

 

“She’s dead,” Mick declared, a crestfallen expression on his face, his shoulders sagging. He closed the bonnet forlornly, looking at a loss. Charles definitely felt similarly.

 

The town they had been approaching looked around twenty minutes away at least by car, and the road was anything but flat as it cut its way through the jagged coastline. Wherever they were, the collection of buildings looked small, there was no guarantee there was a train station, or even a bus back to Monaco from there. For the first time since conducting his not-so-master-plan, a little bit of fear set in. Charles didn’t know what he was doing, he was stuck in the middle of the Italian countryside with a total stranger, and, by his watch, it hadn’t even been three hours since he tiptoed out of his bedroom and out of the palace grounds.

 

Maybe Mick could sense his less than comfort, because he reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

 

“Chin up pretty boy, we’ll take a leaf out of your book,” he said, offering Charles an encouraging smile.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“We’ll get a ride with someone.”

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

 

“If it worked for you once, why can’t it work twice?”

 

Shaking his head, Charles subconsciously patted his pocket, safe in the knowledge that if it did all go horribly wrong, he had his phone in his pocket, and all the help in the world was just a button away. At this rate he could still make it back home in plenty of time. But for now he could pretend that there wasn’t an announcement he had to make tomorrow that would determine a large part of his life. He could pretend he was some normal, stupid young man whose car had just broken down, and there was nothing more to it than that.


	3. your secret's safe with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this is so long, I wish I was sorry. Also I have read over this for spelling, grammar etc. But it's basically two in the morning so I can't say how good it will be.   
> Anyway I hope you enjoy!

Charles felt torn about leaving the car abandoned by the side of the road, keys and all, especially considering it was only a rental. Mick argued that it was okay for exactly the same reason.

 

“They’ll have known it was on its way out when they gave it to me,” he reasoned, shrugging, clearly not thinking much of the money he had wasted.

 

Beyond his initial annoyance, he was taking the whole thing in his stride. Unlike Charles, who felt like he was floundering out at the sea, the same way he had when he was seven and had accidentally swam out of his depth, and Nico had jumped in to pull his little brother back to shore. But his big brother wasn’t there, so Charles was left with little choice other than to follow Mick as the two of them walked down the dusty road, all their hopes pinned on a car driving past and taking pity on them.

 

Charles hadn’t considered what he would do if that driver recognised him, which could go one of two ways. They would either react with the kind of enthusiasm he found embarrassing, and let Mick know that he had lied to him, fracturing that fragile bond of almost friendship they had built up over the past several hours. Or they could do something terrible, like kidnap him and hold him to ransom, sending parts of his body back home until the money was paid. Perhaps his fears were a little far fetched, but he couldn’t rule it out.

 

The more they walked, the warmer it seemed to get since the sun was high in the sky, though it was long past midday. Both Charles’ watch and his rumbling stomach told him so. He wished the road was a little flatter as he, once again, felt like he was hauling himself up a rock face as they ascended with the road; the lack of real pavement making it anything but easy going.

 

“Having trouble there?” Mick looked back at Charles who had his hands on his knees and was doubled over, pausing for breath.

 

“Easy for you to say,” he gestured towards his ex-chauffer and new travel companion, who was wearing shorts and a polo shirt, a far cooler outfit to Charles’ black jeans and white shirt, the jacket in his hand and the large hat on his head, “You came dressed for the occasion.”

 

Mick just laughed in response, reaching his hand out for Charles to take, and pulling him along so they were walking side by side, rather than the German playing leader. Their hands stayed together for a beat too long, enough for Charles to feel as though his palm had been burnt when he hastily pulled it away.

 

They had been walking for around an hour when the first houses popped up, signalling that they were entering the outskirts of the town they had seen. Unfortunately, and probably because it was the middle of the day, most of the houses looked empty, the driveways clear of any cars, the inhabitants most likely at work or school. But it perked the two of them up to know that they hadn’t walked into the middle of a post-apocalyptic landscape where the two of them were the only people left on earth.

 

“First thing we do when we reach civilisation is get some food because I am starving,” Mick announced, cutting through the mostly silence. The two of them were too tired to continue the conversation they had kept going for the first half an hour or so of walking. Charles found that he didn’t mind, the quiet was companionable rather than awkward.

 

“Agreed,” Charles nodded, wishing he’d brought a bottle of water with him.

 

It was only another five minutes of walking before a restaurant appeared, nestled in between two houses, the opening hours indicating there should be someone inside. Charles wasn’t sure how good of an idea it was to ask the restaurant owner or their patrons for a lift.

 

“This is the first sign of humanity we’ve seen, we have to at least try,” Mick argued, all ready to head up the path and indoors, “And even if no one can drive us, we can always get something to eat.”

 

Charles squirmed, still uncomfortable with the idea. Perhaps it was because in his life he hadn’t needed to ask for much, it was something alien to him.

 

“Okay, but we’ll eat first, then ask.”

 

“Ok,” Mick agreed, smiling triumphantly, before he seemed to remember something and added, “Can you speak Italian?”

 

“Yes,” Charles answered automatically, before realising why Mick was even asking. In their drive they had, of course, crossed the border between France and Italy. While he knew Mick could speak English, as that was the language they had been communicating in, obviously Italian was not one that he knew, on top of his native German. The perks of an expensive education meant Charles knew it well enough to inquire about a lift with someone inside the restaurant. That also meant all the talking was down to him.

 

“Oh!” Mick said, clearly surprised, an eyebrow arched in a way that showed he was impressed.

 

The two of them followed one another up the path when Mick’s phone began to ring again, with a look of annoyance he wrenched it from his pocket, clearly debating about whether to answer it.

 

“You go on ahead, sorry, I have to take this,” he said without looking up at Charles who had stopped and turned to see what was going on. Mick didn’t wait for an answer as he headed down the path a little way and put the phone to his ear.

 

Feeling more than a little nervous at the prospect of attempting to beg off someone’s generosity, Charles took a deep breath and pushed open the door of the restaurant. It was small, and couldn’t have held more than ten tables inside, and three more on a balcony that looked out down the cliff face and onto the sea below. It was mostly bare, each table only covered with a red and white chequered table cloth, and the tables and chairs made from mismatching types of wood. There was no one sat at any of the tables except for one man, whose face was entirely covered by the newspaper he read. All Charles could see of him was the cigarette he held in one hand that he tapped against a full ashtray on the table. He hadn’t seemed to notice Charles come in, so he coughed lightly, trying to get his attention.

 

He didn’t know what he expected the man's reaction would be, but he didn’t expect the gentleman to look over the top of his newspaper before practically throwing it aside, exclaiming loudly in Italian that was too rapid for Charles to follow. Quite taken aback, Charles almost retreated out the door when the man rushed towards him, crashing into the closely packed tables and chairs in his haste. When he reached him, he took him by the hand and began shaking it vigorously, almost pulling Charles off his feet.

 

“Your highness, it is an honour, an honour,” he gushed in broken French, still shaking Charles’ hand, who was avoiding thinking about the discomfort of the whole situation by focusing on how grateful he was that Mick wasn’t there.

 

“Um, thank you,” he replied, unsure of what he was supposed to do, all his knowledge of protocol heading out of the window.

 

“Your family is…” the gentleman started his sentence with words, but ended it pointing to a framed picture that sat on the wood panelled wall, his clearly limited knowledge of French failing him. In the frame was a printed picture of Charles, Nico and Pierre, all three of their hands raised, waving. Charles didn’t even recognise the photograph, and he couldn’t have said when it was taken, though it looked recent.

 

“That’s lovely,” Charles said rather awkwardly, switching to Italian, which seemed to enthral the man further who exclaimed and went to shake his hand again. A handshake Charles ended quickly. The only thing that was on his mind was how to diffuse the situation before Mick’s phone call ended and he appeared. At least he could count himself lucky that the reaction had been positive, and as guilty and unclean as it might make him feel, Charles did not think that the man would refuse him a favour.

 

As quickly as he could, for the fear that Mick would appear, he told that man that he was currently travelling incognito, though he did not explain why, and that his car had broken down and would he be so kind as to give him and his friend a lift to the nearest town.

 

“Of course, of course, it would be my pleasure,” the man replied instantly, earning a genuine smile from Charles, it gave him enough confidence and trust in the man to chance asking;

 

“And you don’t suppose you could take the photo down, just while I’m here, I wouldn’t want to get recognised, that’s all,” and the man obliged. And just in time too, for as the gentleman returned from behind the counter where he had placed the photograph, the door opened and Mick stepped inside. Charles felt his body sag in utter relief.

 

“Sorry about that,” he said, motioning towards the phone in his hand, once again looking harassed after his phone call. Charles would have bet the crown jewels of Monaco that whoever had called him was the same person who had phoned him as the car had broken down. The curious part of him was desperate to know who it was, but that side of him was shouted down by his more cautious nature, worried about scaring away someone who he was beginning to like rather a lot. Whatever relationship he had growing with Mick was not a luxury he was afforded often; he would be damned if he was going to ruin it for himself.

 

A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him unhelpfully that he was not being exactly honest with Mick, that something built on a lie – even a lie by omission – was nothing at all. He duly ignored those thoughts.

 

“It’s ok,” he waved off Mick’s apology before adding, “I got us a ride though.”

 

“Really?” Mick perked up instantly, his eyes shining as he looked between the man and Charles.

 

“Yep,” Charles said, feeling rather pleased with himself now he saw how happy it had made Mick. Though truthfully, he too was glad they wouldn’t have to go any further on foot. The man tapped him on the arm, and he turned to look at his enraptured face.

 

“Would you like to leave now?” he asked Charles, using his native Italian.

 

“Could you ask him if he has any food?” Mick piped up, looking hopeful. Charles repeated his question, and the man wandered towards the kitchen with a spring in his step, practically singing to himself as he went.

 

“He seems nice,” Mick commented, and Charles could only laugh because he didn’t know the half of it.

 

The man reappeared a few minutes later holding a brown paper bag which he thrust into Charles’ hands and beckoned them to follow him through the kitchen.

 

“My car is out the back,” he explained.

 

Mick, unable to understand what the man was saying, but still trusting him nonetheless, just raised an eyebrow and shrugged before he walked off after him. Once again he impressed Charles with the way he took it all in his stride, not overthinking things, just taking the hand he had been dealt with.

 

The kitchen they walked through was empty apart from a man, who couldn’t have much much older than Charles or Mick, standing in front of a sink filled with soap suds, earphones in, humming away as he worked his way through a mountain of cutlery. Even as they left out the back door, the smell of garlic and herbs followed them outside, mixing with the humid Italian air.  

 

The car was a tiny banged up thing, resembling a tin can more than a vehicle. The red paint was peeling in places, the hub caps rusted and the exhaust had clearly been stuck back into place with a generous helping of duct tape. It had only two doors, but four seats inside, but Charles very much doubted that it would be a comfortable fit for the three of them.

 

“It’s not much, but it runs fine,” the gentleman assured him opening the driver’s door, pushing the front seat forward so the two of them could get in the back.

 

“We’re just very grateful,” Charles said with a smile, the one he had been taught as a child to wear at all times, no matter what he was feeling on the inside.

 

Mick clambered in first, with Charles following, the paper bag still in his hands. The car engine started with a groaning noise, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure whether it would get going, but it roared into life after a few nervous moments, and the man pulled out onto the road with the expertise of someone who knew the car inside out. Still feeling a little anxious about whether the car would get them to a train station without breaking down like theirs had, Charles barely realised that his entire body was tense, and he was scarcely breathing, like he was scared he might break the car if he moved too much. It was only when he felt Mick’s own hand pawing at his, trying to reach the bag he held, that he realised he’d been holding it so tight his knuckles had turned white.

 

“Nervous?” he asked, his voice low, like he didn’t want their driver to hear them. He managed to prise the paper bag from Charles’s hand and open it, pulling out a ham sandwich, far larger than his palm.

 

“No,” Charles answered, quickly, a little too quickly to be convincing. It was ironic that his ability to lie should fail him only now, when it was all he had been doing for most of the day.

 

“Have a sandwich,” Mick suggested, offering him the other from inside the bag, which Charles took gratefully with a smile.

 

Biting into his sandwich, he chewed thoughtfully, his mind struck by the turn his day had taken, how unlike it was the life he was used to. But he thought he would replace a thousand charity galas for a single day sat in the back of a battered car older than himself, next to a boy he thought he was beginning to like very much. He didn’t mind that his knees were pushed up against the back of the chair in front of him, or that there was no air conditioning, what he cared most about right then was the fact that the ham sandwich he was munching on tasted like the best meal he’d had in the whole god damn world. Probably because he was so hungry.

 

“Enjoying that?” Mick asked him, laughing when Charles turned to him, the faraway look still on his face.

 

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, joining in Mick’s laughter.

 

Mick held out his sandwich, and Charles clinked them together, in a mimicry of an action he had done too many times with people he didn’t know and didn’t remember.  

 

“To new friends,” he joked, though his sentiment was true.

 

“Never thought I’d find one in a strangely dressed boy I picked up by the side of the road.”

 

“Why? Do you have a lot of experience with that?” Charles joked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. He was rewarded with a hearty laugh from Mick, and there was something that thrilled him when Charles noticed that he was blushing too.

 

“I didn’t think a rich boy from the right side of town knew about things like that,” Mick regained his composure in time to throw another comment back at Charles.

 

“There’s plenty you don’t know about us ‘rich boys’.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

Charles laughed, taking another bite of his sandwich, but when he looked back at Mick he saw that he wasn’t laughing anymore, and was looking at Charles with an unreadable expression on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Charles was distracted by the feeling of his phone buzzing in his jacket.

 

He pulled it out to see that it was Nico who was calling him, a sight he took in with a sinking heart. The clock on his phone told him that it had been around five hours since he had left his room, and it was nearing the evening. He prayed that it was just his brother calling him from wherever he was, telling him he was on his way home. He didn’t want to imagine his brother stood in his empty room, wondering where the hell he was. And he certainly didn’t want to tell him if that was the case. So he declined the call, sending his older brother to voicemail.

 

“Your brother?” Mick asked, seeming to guess from Charles’ expression.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“The one who wants you to get married?”

 

Charles nodded again, a slightly pained expression on his face.

 

“Sounds like a bit of an asshole if you ask me.”

 

“He’s not,” Charles was quick to defend Nico, “He means well, he always does. His whole life all he’s ever done is what’s best for me. And he’s right with this, it’s just…it might be right, but it isn’t what I want.”

 

Mick wasn’t exactly wrong. Nico could be an asshole, but everything he did was because he loved Charles, and Pierre. But he also loved his country, and that was where things got complicated. Monaco was a small country, it needed outside help, or it would fail to stay afloat in this new world they were part of. Charles knew it just made sense to offer him rather than Pierre, who had acquired an amusing, but often inconvenient, case of ‘middle child syndrome’. His mind knew all of this and accepted it. What his heart knew and accepted was an entirely different matter.

 

“You shouldn’t have to do something if you don’t want to,” Mick said, and Charles could only wish it was that simple. Part of him wanted to tell Mick why it wasn’t so.

 

“Yeah,” Charles could only say, his voice slow, “But it’s Nico and I owe him a lot.”

 

“Yeah?” Mick prompted, leaning his head back against the worn leather of the car seat, folding his arm as he listened.

 

“Mm, he’s annoying as hell, and yeah he _can_ be a bit of an asshole, mostly because I think he still thinks I’m ten years old. He’s barely thirty but I swear to God you’d think he was at least sixty with the way he acts sometimes,” Charles said with a fond laugh, “Nothing like Pierre – he’s the middle of the three of us – who seems to want to act like a teenager for the rest of his life. I think he’s allergic to responsibility. But he’s fun, so it doesn’t really matter.”

 

Mick was watching him with a smile, his sandwich gone, only the crumbs on his t-shirt evidence it had ever been there.

 

“What about you?”

 

“What do you mean?” Charles asked, confused.

 

“Where do you fit into the family dynamic?”

 

“I…don’t know. I guess I’m most like Nico, but I never have the answers like he does, or at least the confidence to pretend I do. Then again, I’ve never had to, because he’s always been around. Sometimes…sometimes I wish I was more like Pierre. I don’t think I’ve ever knowingly gotten myself in trouble, except maybe when I was a kid. The way he is, it’s like being reckless is the best way to live. I don’t know if that’s true, but maybe I’d like to find out. Just do something even a little bit crazy, you know?”

 

Now when he looked at Mick, he saw his smile had grown to a full blown grin. He didn’t know what he had said to cause that reaction. But he found himself returning it without a second thought.

 

“Excuse me” the man piped up, Charles had almost forgotten about him, the Italian sounded strange after the English conversation he and Mick had been having, “Is Viareggio train station alright, your highness?”

 

“It’s perfect,” he answered, smiling at the man's reflection in the overhead mirror.

 

“What did he call you?” Mick asked, frowning in confusion.

 

“Uh, nothing. Never mind,” Charles tried to wave him off.

 

They pulled into a busy car park, filled with cars and scooters, in front of small train station that had only a handful of platforms and a tiny ticket office. There were no empty spaces, so they just parked up in the middle of the road, the man getting out the let Charles and Mick out from the back of the car.

 

Charles fished his wallet out of his jacket pocket, pulling out a hundred euro note from his well stocked supply of money. He tried to give it to the gentleman, but he shook his head and pushed Charles’ hand away.

 

“Please,” he insisted.

 

“No I couldn’t.”

 

“If not for the ride, then at least for the food. Please I insist.”

 

Eventually the man relented, holding his hand on top of Charles’ for a moment, giving him a small bow for good measure.

 

“Your secret is safe with me.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Charles turned to see Mick studying a route map that was stuck to the wall outside the train station, his forehead creased in concentration. It was quiet, the after work rush hour having mostly died down, but Charles didn’t want to risk his chances. Despite how ill-fitting it was he pulled on the leather jacket and fixed his sunglasses and hat before joining Mick.

 

“Back to travelling incognito now are we?” Mick laughed as Charles approached. “I’m assuming you want to get back to Monaco?”

 

“Yeah I think that would be best.”

 

He wasn’t sure whether it was just wishful thinking, but Charles could swear he saw a look of disappointment on Mick’s face. Maybe he just wanted to see that because it was how he felt.

 

“We can get the Milan train from here to Genoa, then change there and catch one to Monaco,” he said tracing his fingers along the train lines.

 

“Ok great, then we buy our tickets,” Charles said, starting to walk in the direction of the ticket booths.

 

“Woah slow down there,” Mick grabbed onto his upper arm, pulling him back, “We’re not buying any tickets.”

 

“Why not? I have money,” Charles looked bemused, trying to shake himself out of Mick’s grip.

 

“That’s besides the point. You want to do something ‘even a little bit crazy’?” Mick quoted his earlier words back at him, but Charles still couldn’t see what he was getting at, “You’re going to get your first lesson in using public transport for free.”

 

His eyes seemed to light up at the prospect, and the smile he had been wearing for the most of the day had taken on a mischievous quality.

 

“No, no, I can’t do that,” Charles shook his head.

 

“Why not? Everyone does it! No one ever get caught.”

 

Charles could hardly explain why it would be a PR disaster if a prince of Monaco was found out to be wilfully avoiding paying train fare. And he didn’t know how to say no to Mick.

 

“Okay…” Charles agreed, making sure his voice sounded sceptical enough to make his moral concerns about this known.

 

“All you gotta do is act confident, and job’s done,” Mick leaned in to whisper in Charles’ ear, linking their arms to lead them through the ticket hall and straight out onto the platform. And Charles had to laugh once they got out there and he realised he had held his breath the whole way.

 

It was only fifteen minutes until the next train to Milan arrived, and Mick spent that time entering Charles with some elaborate anecdote about him and his sister on some skiing holiday when they were kids, told with such flair and vigour that it had Charles doubled over in laughter. Charles was laughing so hard by the time they boarded the train that he had almost forgotten about the fact that they were travelling without tickets.

 

“You tell stories well,” Charles said, his sides aching, “Have you ever thought about writing?”

 

Once they were on board the train and travelling west, away from Viareggio, the two of them began to make their way down the carriage looking for two empty seats, Charles making sure they were far away from the other travellers, lest someone else recognise him. They were about half way down the carriage when Mick pulled him back by the t-shirt roughly, dragging him up the aisle, back the way they’d came.

 

“Train conductor is coming, he’s checking tickets,” Mick hissed, still pulling Charles along, who was struggling to find his feet at the pace they were moving. Before he could, Mick had pulled open the door to the toilet they were standing beside, and pushed Charles inside, following him and locking the door behind them.

 

It was cramped inside, with Charles practically sat on top of the toilet, Mick leaning over him, pressing one finger to Charles’ lip to keep him quiet. He reached behind him and undid the lock, making sure he kept the door shut.

 

“What are you doing?” Charles whispered urgently, but Mick covered his mouth again, muffling his voice.

 

“If the door is locked then they know someone is hiding in here, if it says it’s empty then they won’t check,” he explained, keeping his voice as low as he could.

 

The two of them kept quiet as they waited for the sound of the conductor passing, their bodies pressed flush against each other. Charles was trying not to think about the proximity between them too hard, and definitely trying not to think about why it was making him feel so flustered.

 

The passing footsteps didn’t take long to appear, and once the only thing they could hear was the sound of the train clattering along the tracks, Mick pulled open the door and stepped out, Charles tumbling out after him.

 

“Well this doesn’t look at all compromising,” Mick laughed, straightening his clothes, and fixing his hair.

 

“Let’s just find somewhere to sit down, I’m exhausted,” Charles said, torn between laughing and rolling his eyes.

 

The two of them sat in an empty group of four seats, the hunger and tiredness hitting them as soon as they got themselves comfortable. Sunglasses back over his eyes, Charles found it hard to keep them open after a few minutes, figuring that as long as Mick was awake to look out for their stop, then it didn’t matter if he rested his eyes for half an hour or so. Leaning his head against the softly shaking window, he fell asleep to the rumbling sound of the train speeding alongside the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure how trains work in Italy, so just bear with me if it's totally wrong haha.  
> And don't worry, their little adventure isn't over just yet :)


	4. arschloch!

“Charles,” the urgent voice cut through his foggy, sleep fuelled mind, barely making an impression on his subconscious, just a dull prod on his brain.

 

“Charles!” he now recognised the voice as Mick’s, it was barely louder than a distant shout, as into focus came the sound of the rattling train and other mumbling voices from all directions.

 

It wasn’t until he felt a sharp hand across his face that he woke with a start, clutching his cheek, though it was the shock that he felt more than anything else.

 

“You slapped me!” Charles’ voice was filled with incredulity, his mouth gaping at Mick. He didn’t think anyone had ever smacked him before, no matter how lightly, - except maybe Pierre once when they were boys – and he couldn’t quite get over that.

 

“You were asleep!” Mick defended himself, “And besides I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

 

Their exchange earned them a couple of strange looks from the man and woman who now sat opposite them, but hadn’t been there when Charles had fallen asleep. His sunglasses, which had been covering his eyes, had clearly fallen into his lap, and he picked them up as he rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the slumber from which he had been so rudely awakened. His neck ached, and he had lost most of the feeling in his left arm after sleeping on it for God’s know how long. Tentatively turning his head to the left he saw it was almost completely dark out, his tired eyes unable to make out much more than the lights which flashed by as they sped on by the towns.

 

“Where are we?” he asked Mick, turning back to him, and for the first time noticing that he too looked a little bedraggled, one of his cheeks featuring a pink imprint, a sign he had been leaning against the seat.

 

“That’s uh, why I woke you up,” he said, looking sheepish, “The next stop is Milan.”

 

“What?!” Charles exclaimed, the panic rising in his chest as the volume in his voice did. That earned them even more strange looks from nearby passengers, Charles forgetting all about his desire not to draw attention to himself.

 

“Sshhh,” Mick said, flapping his hands to try get Charles to calm down.

 

“How are we nearly at _Milan_?” he asked, his voice low, but the confusion evident in his tone, along with a kind of angry panic that he didn’t necessarily mean.

 

“I fell asleep,” Mick said, looking down, his face so sorry that Charles felt bad for having been so rude. After all, Milan was a very long way from Nice, both of them were travelling in completely the wrong direction.

 

“Sorry, I just… _shit_ ,” he swore, running his hands through his hair once he saw that his watch told him it was almost ten o’clock at night. There was very little chance that he was going to get home before tomorrow at the earliest. The pit of his stomach weighed heavy with dread at how he was going to explain himself.

 

Just to make himself feel worse, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw that he had five missed calls from Nico, one from Pierre and a flurry of text messages from the two of them, as well as one from the palace head of security.

 

Most of Nico’s were along the lines of; “Where are you?” and “Charles call me please”. Pierre’s were mostly filled with the crying-laughing emoji, “nico is going spare, what are you doing?” but as it got later they got less jokey; “seriously tho, where are you? call us back”. Charles groaned, locking his phone so he didn’t have to read them.

 

“Can’t you just call them and say you’re staying at a friend’s or something?” Mick suggested, clearly sensing his mood. Charles could hardly tell him why him staying over at a friend’s house wasn’t a very good excuse for him, since it wasn’t something he could ever do. He could only shake his head as a reply.

 

Mick patted him on the forearm, clearly not sure what he was supposed to say. In the end, Charles supposed it was his turn to take a leaf out of Mick’s book. He had to deal with this now, and if that meant booking the two of them into a hotel and getting a train in the morning, then that was what he would do. He pushed all thoughts of the midday press conference that was looming from his mind, there was very little chance that was going ahead now, barring a miracle.

 

“We are now approaching Milan Central Railway Station where this service terminates,” a voice announced in Italian as the train started to slow, the scene outside indicating that they were pulling into a large train station, the arched ceiling reflecting the lights that illuminated the rows of platforms. It was fairly quiet, the people milling around clearly waiting for their train home; men in business suits carrying briefcases, and tired looking teenagers yawning into the backs of their hand.

 

With a shuddering jolt, the train stopped, and all the people around them began to stand up and make their way off the train. Charles was too preoccupied with staring out of the window, his mind weighing up how bad of an idea it was to call his brothers. Some how he didn’t think he could take that.

 

“Charles,” Mick said softly, tapping his shoulder, “Time to go.”

 

Together they clambered off the train, Charles now grateful for the jacket he had brought with him, the temperature having decreased significantly now the sun had set. He felt sorry for Mick who was stuck in his shorts and polo shirt, his arms wrapped around his torso, trying to conserve some warmth. For the first time since Charles had met him, there was no smile on his face, and his whole body language was crestfallen, and Charles got the impression that he was feeling guilty for getting them into this situation.

 

“Here,” he said breaking the silence, taking the jacket off his own back and offering it to Mick.

 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Mick shook his head.

 

“Come on, you look freezing,” Charles insisted, and Mick relented, pulling on the leather jacket, fitting his smaller frame far better.

 

“I am really sorry Charles,” after a few moments Mick spoke up, his voice small. Charles just sighed.

 

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place. We were both a bit stupid,” Charles shrugged. It had just been a mistake on both of their parts.

 

“Yeah it was kind of stupid,” Mick said with a giggle that Charles couldn’t help but join in with until the two of them had to stop walking because they were laughing so hard at themselves. Charles was starting to see the appeal in the spontaneity of it all, even if it was unintentional.

 

“Come on, I’m starving, let’s get some food before we find somewhere to stay,” Mick said, the smile back on his face as he slung an arm around Charles’ shoulders, the two of them exiting the train station in a wholly random direction.

 

“At least if we’re stuck in Italy that means we can get some good pizza,” Charles said, his stomach rumbling in agreement.

 

It didn’t take long for them to head away the large piazza and down a side street, where they found a small shop which sold takeaway slices of pizza. It was a tiny shop, barely three people wide, and it looked like they were beginning to pack away so they could close. Looking down the small road, besides the orange glow of the streetlights he couldn’t see any more lights which indicated that there was anywhere else open. It was dark though, so he couldn’t actually see any awful lot. Besides he was too hungry to walk much longer.

 

“I’ll get us something, you can wait here,” Mick suggested, turning to walk inside.

 

“Wait,” Charles said, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, opening it so he could try give Mick some money.

 

“No, no, this is on me,” Mick shook his head, stepping towards Charles so he could let a man past them on the pavement. Charles tried to argue but Mick was inside the shop before the words could leave his mouth.

 

Charles just sighed in half hearted exasperation, putting away his wallet. He made his way down the street a little, peering in the window of the nearest shop with vague interest.

 

“Any spare change?” a voice said over his shoulder, and Charles looked up to see the reflection of the man who had walked past him and Mick barely a minute ago. But there was something in his face that told Charles his intentions were not to borrow a euro or two that he needed for a bus ride home, especially if he had seen the contents of Charles’ wallet. Heart in his mouth, he couldn’t think fast enough for a way out.

 

The man shoved Charles hard, smacking his head off the shop window with a sharp bang, and pressing him against it so he couldn’t move, his right hand twisted behind him back. He was far smaller than the man, but that didn’t stop him trying to throw him off, even if he was finding it hard to breathe.

 

“Where’s your wallet?” the man demanded, his mouth on Charles’ ear, his hot breath smelling strongly of cigarette smoke.

 

“Fuck off,” Charles muttered, rather stupidly. Grabbing the back of Charles’ shirt, he pulled him roughly before shoving him against the window again, this time hitting his nose so hard it burned, the taste of blood filling Charles’ mouth.

 

“Back pocket. Right,” he answered this time.

 

He felt the man struggle to pull it out of his pocket, wiggling it until it came loose.

 

“Hey!” there was a shout from their left, the voice unmistakably Mick’s. Charles could hear him running towards them, and catching the man by surprise, he obviously managed to pull him off Charles, who turned around just in time to see Mick deliver a swift punch to the man’s jaw. It didn’t knock him off his feet, but it did startle him, and he clearly decided to cut his losses, rather than pick a fight with the two of them, so he ran, Charles’ wallet firmly grasped in his hand.

 

“ _Arschloch!_ ” Mick yelled after him, his face coloured with fury, his hands still curled into fists. Charles felt a little dazed, and he didn’t know whether it was the residual shock hitting him, or because he’d hit his head, but he was having trouble staying steady.

 

“Charles, your face!” Mick exclaimed, the anger on his face being replaced by concern. Charles turned to look at his face in the window and saw that his upper lip and nose was covered in blood, and when he touched his fingers to his face he couldn’t help but hiss at the contact. The tips of his fingers came away wet. He was struck by the childish urge to cry. Not because he was in a lot of pain, it was more a throbbing headache and a sore nose, but in disbelief that this had happened at all.

 

Glancing back at Mick, he saw that he had picked up the bag of food which he had dropped in his hurry to help Charles, and was chewing on his bottom lip worriedly.

 

“Are you ok?” he asked tentatively, approaching Charles who was still feeling pretty out of it. Mick reached a one hand out, gently pressing his fingertips to Charles’ lips and mouth, feeling for himself the damage done. The look on his face was one of such care that it made Charles feel a little choked up. He felt the same when he remembered the furious expression Mick had worn when he pulled the man off Charles. He didn’t know how he could feel so intensely after knowing him for such a short time, but he knew it made sense because in many ways he knew he would have done the same things had their roles been reversed.

 

“I’m alright,” he said, still swaying where he stood.

 

“Let’s just find somewhere to stay,” Mick wrapped his arm around Charles’ back to keep him upright, and led the two of them towards the better lit streets where they might feel a bit safer.

 

It only took them around fifteen minutes or so to find a small hotel with a ‘vacancies’ sign up in the window, but the fifteen minutes of walking - though at times it was more Mick dragging Charles – had only made him more disorientated. The hotel was more like a converted terraced house, painted a brilliant white that was visible even though it was dark out, and the sign outside proudly displayed two stars. The receptionist looked a little sceptical about giving the two of them a room, and Charles supposed that was because it looked a little like he was off his face, not that he had just been mugged.

 

But it was nearing midnight, and clearly the receptionist was in no mood for an argument, so she just took Mick’s money, and gave them a key, telling them that their room was on the top floor and that they should take the lift. The room they were given had obviously at one point in time been part of the attic, with a low ceiling that sloped all the way to the far wall, one skylight placed in the middle of it, directly above the small double bed. It was sparsely decorated, just the bed, a wardrobe and a chair, but there was a small en suite bathroom with a shower. Charles flicked on the light, which was so dim that it barely did anything, and shut the door behind him as Mick took off Charles’ jacket and threw it on the bed. Charles remembered with a burst of relief that his phone had been in his jacket, so while he might have lost all his money and his ID, he at least had his phone.

 

“Do you want to go into the bathroom? I’m going to find the first aid kit,” Mick said, opening the wardrobe doors.

 

The light in the bathroom was much brighter, so much so that Charles had to blink a few times as he adjusted to it. Now that he could see his face properly, he realised that he did look more than a little worse for wear. His nose looked swollen and there were signs of purple bruising already emerging, he had a cut on his forehead that he hadn’t really noticed before, and the blood on his lower face made it look like he was wearing grossly overdrawn red lipstick.

 

Mick entered the bathroom, and without really saying anything, he took Charles’ wrist and sat him down on the toilet. Kneeling in front of him, he opened up the green first aid kit and studied the contents.

 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Charles asked, as Mick stroked his chin thoughtfully.

 

“I can guess,” he shrugged. Rooting around his found a packet of wipes, and opened them, pulling one out and holding it to Charles’ face, carefully wiping off the blood, first from his forehead, and then his nose and mouth.

 

“Thank you by the way,” Charles said quietly as Mick worked, taking care not to move his face too much, “For pulling that guy off me. And punching him. I think that scared him off.”

 

Mick pulled away, scanning Charles’ face to make sure he had got rid of all the blood, as he held the wipe it became apparent that he had bruised his knuckles, a sight Charles took in with a wince.

 

“It’s ok,” he paused, pressing to wipe to the cut now, which stung enough to make Charles’ eyes water, “I didn’t really think, I should have tried to get your wallet back, but it just scared me, I thought he might have a knife or something, so all I could think about was getting you away from him.”

 

His quiet admission surprised Charles, who watched as he reached into the first aid kit and pulled out an antiseptic cream, which he applied to his cuts, cooling and soothing the angry red skin.

 

“Well I think it was very brave,” he told Mick after a moment, who smiled half heartedly.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

There was a moment when the two of just looked at each other, and Charles felt a rush of emotion towards this man that, really, he barely knew. He had made a lot of bad decisions that day, and had been struck with some of the worst luck in his life. But if one thing had gone right, it was that it had been Mick driving the car that stopped for him.

 

Mick cleared his throat and the moment was gone. Charles felt a flush of embarrassment, knowing where his mind had been travelling, but Mick was avoiding looking at his face anyway.

 

“Is your hand going to be ok?” Charles asked him, trying to break the tension.

 

“My hand?” Mick frowned, looking at the bruises along the back of it with surprise, “Oh! Yeah, it’ll be fine.”

 

He stood up, taking the first aid kit with him.

 

“The food shouldn’t be too cold if you want some?” Mick said, nodding his head to the other room.

 

“Sounds great,” Charles agreed standing up and following Mick.

 

From the bag he pulled out a pizza box and two bottles of water, handing one to Charles which he drank gratefully.

 

“I managed to convince them to just give me what was left,” he said, opening the box to reveal a mismatched set of pizza slices, all with different toppings, all smelling and looking delicious.

 

“God I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry,” Charles said, picking up a slice and tucking in, the earlier momentary awkwardness all but forgotten. Mick nodded in agreement, eating his own slice ravenously.

 

They ate in contentment, playing a game of ‘guess the toppings’ as they went, both of them sprawled out on the bed, legs dangling off the edge. Charles’ headache subsided until it was just a dull ache, the food and water no doubt helping. He didn’t think that twenty-four hours ago, when he had been safely tucked up in his bed in the Prince’s Palace of Monaco, he would have imagined that a day later he would be eating pizza in a dingy hotel room in Milan.

 

The empty pizza box was discarded onto the floor, the two of them were lying on their backs, holding their full stomachs. Charles didn’t know how he was managing to smile after the day he’d had, but something about being with Mick made it easy. He turned to look at the German, who was typing into his phone, Charles spied the name of the hotel they were in and presumed he was letting someone know where he was.

 

“Who are you texting?” he asked.

 

“No one important,” Mick said, turning off his phone and turning his own head to look at Charles, their faces centimetres apart. Charles had been about to tease him about his lack of forthcoming, but the words died in his throat abruptly. Mick yawned, prompting a laugh from Charles.

 

“Maybe we should get some sleep,” Charles suggested, poking Mick in his ribs, making him squirm.

 

“Good idea,” Mick nodded in agreement, before reaching down to pull his polo shirt over his head.

 

“What are you doing?” Charles said, rather alarmed, sitting up quickly.

 

“Well I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to sleep in the same clothes I have to wear tomorrow,” Mick said, reaching down so he could take his socks off. He did have a point, Charles supposed.

 

“I guess,” Charles agreed, his initial shock wearing off, copying Mick by pulling off his t-shirt, followed by his shoes and jeans. Mick had already got himself tucked up under the covers by the time Charles got in, feeling more than a little awkward.

 

Mick reached over and flicked the light switch by his side of the bed, leaving them in almost total darkness, just the light filtering through the window above them. He could hear Mick shuffling around, trying to get comfortable, and not for the first time that day he thought about how bizarre it all was. In some ways it had been awful, but in others it was the most exhilarating and beautiful day he’d had in a long time.


	5. hang in there kiddo

At some point during the night Charles had been woken by the sound of a siren whirring down the street outside. The thin white cover they had been lying under was twisted around his and Mick’s legs, leaving them both cold and exposed. In his drowsy, half asleep state he tried to turn over, but found he couldn’t because of the face pressed into his shoulder, and the leg that had hooked itself around his. Shuffling a little, trying to get comfortable, Charles could have sworn his felt an arm work its way around his torso before sleep pulled him back under.

 

The next thing he knew he was being woken up by brilliant sunlight streaming down on his face, temporarily blinding him as he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust. He couldn’t help but think how ill placed the window was. Twisting his head, he saw that the space next to him in the bed was empty, but there was a faint imprint on the mattress where Mick had been. Distantly he could hear the sound of the tap running from behind the bathroom door.

 

Lying back Charles rubbed at his face, trying to wake up, glancing at the watch which he had forgotten to take off and seeing that it was just eight o’clock.

 

“Morning,” he looked over and saw Mick standing in front of the bathroom door, fully dressed, his hair dripping from the shower he had obviously just taken. Charles suddenly felt very self conscious about the fact that he was only in his boxers and the sheet barely covered his knees. As surreptitiously as he could manage, he attempted to pull the covers up so he didn’t feel so exposed.

 

“Sleep well?” Mick asked, planting himself on the corner of the bed, the mattress sinking a little under his weight.

 

“Great actually, better than my nap on the train yesterday anyway,” Charles said, trying to supress a yawn earning himself a laugh from Mick. He was about to haul himself out of bed and crawl into the shower, but he was distracted by the faint sound of buzzing, very much like a phone ringing.

 

“Is that yours or mine?” he asked Mick, trying to look for the source of the sound.

 

“I think it’s yours,” Mick said, reaching down and picking up the leather jacket, which had been relegated to the floor at some point during the night. He fished Charles’ phone out of the pocket and handed it to him, “It’s your brother.”

 

Charles fully expected it to be Nico, knowing that he would be losing his mind by now, feeling incredibly guilty at the thought. So he was surprised to see Pierre’s name on the screen. Again he debated not answering, but knew that would be bordering on cruel. Besides, Pierre was way less likely to give him a hard time than Nico.

 

“Hello,” he said tentatively, pressing the phone to his ear.

 

“Charles thank God,” he heard Pierre sigh, sounding so relieved that it made Charles wince, “Why the fuck are you in Milan?”

 

His heart thudded. How could his brother possibly know where he was? How could anyone outside of the hotel room he sat in know?

 

“W-what? How do you know that?” he whispered, trying not to sound too shaken. How much more did Pierre know?

 

“It’s all over the news here. They have cameras outside some hotel, they’re saying you’re inside. What are you doing Charles? If this is your attempt at running away you haven’t done a very good job,” for the first time since Charles could remember Pierre actually sounded angry with him, but he knew that was only because he was worried. Everything he was telling Charles gave him a very strong urge to throw up, or cry, or maybe both. Feeling his pulse racing, he pressed a hand to his face, covering his eyes, like he could fall back to sleep and pretend this wasn’t happening.

 

“It’s not…I didn’t mean, it’s a really long story. I’ll tell you when I get home later, I promise,” Charles said, trying not to sound so tearful, but talking to his older brother made him feel so young, and so naïve.

 

“I’ll bet. Is this about Nico asking you to get married?” was his next question. Pierre had always been able to see right through Charles. The minute he had told his brother, he couldn’t hide what he really thought about it.

 

Charles nodded, before remembering Pierre couldn’t see him.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh Charles. You should have said, you know Nico would never ever make you do something you didn’t want to do.”

 

“It isn’t that-…it’s just complicated.”

 

Charles didn’t think he could explain it over the phone, he would tell Pierre later. Right now he wanted to know how he was going to get himself out of the mess he was stuck in.

 

“Pierre what do I do? Tell me what to do.”

 

He knew Pierre would have the answers for something like this, answers which hopefully would avoid him having to walk out the hotel in front of a horde of journalists and their cameras.

 

“Ok, firstly, you have to figure out a way to get out of that hotel without being spotted. Then get a taxi to Milan Linate, I’ll send over the plane so you can get that back. I won’t tell Nico anything until you get back if you like.”

 

“Just tell him I’m okay and I’m on my way home.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Charles’ phone buzzed and he pulled it away from his ear to see that he had an alert telling him that he only had ten per cent battery left.

 

“My phone’s about to die, I’ll sort it out, I’ll be alright.”

 

“Good. Hang in there kiddo,” Pierre said and Charles could hear the sad smile in his voice.

 

“Thank you,” he said before hanging up. Closing his eyes, he inhaled shakily, only looking up when he felt Mick get up off the bed, having almost forgotten he was there during his phone call. He felt even more dread flood his chest when he realised this meant he had to come clean with Mick, that he had to tell him everything, and admit that he had lied about who he was.

 

That was the thought that occupied his mind until a realisation hit him, hard, so staggering it actually hurt. 

 

Mick was the only person who knew where he was. And last night he had text someone to let them know where he was. Whoever it was had told the press.

 

Which meant Mick knew who he was. He had always known. And he had sold him out.

 

The betrayal stung, a mixture of anger and upset stirring in his chest as he stared at Mick’s back, scarcely believing that the same man who had wiped the blood of his face and made him feel so alive with his carefree joy, had used him, and had never been interested in Charles at all. He could only have been interested in what he was, not who he was.

 

The nausea returned to him, and he felt his hands shake as he placed his phone down on the bed.

 

“Why did you do it?” he asked Mick, his voice low, sounding far more measured than he felt. Mick didn’t answer, he didn’t even show any sign that he had heard Charles, who could feel himself losing his composure.

 

“Why did you do it Mick?” he repeated, the volume and pitch of his voice rising. This time the German turned around, his facial expression desperate, but otherwise Charles couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe he was only searching in vain for a lie.

 

“You have to let me explain,” he was quiet, sounding like a scared child.

 

“Explain what?” Charles surprised even himself with how cold he sounded. His tone biting, sharp.

 

“I…” Mick stammered, swallowing hard, but no words followed.

 

“You knew who I was didn’t you? From the moment I got into your car,” he accused him, and Mick didn’t try to deny it, which only made Charles feel worse, like all the air had left his lungs.  He felt his eyes sting, unable to shake the feel that Mick hadn’t meant a single thing he had said to him, he didn’t care at all. It had just been about himself.

 

“Was any of this real? Or has everything you’ve told me just been a lie?” Charles demanded when Mick still didn’t answer, rising to his feet, preferring to give in to his anger than his sadness. The two of them stood across from each other, Charles in just his underwear, his shoulders set, fist clenched, fire in his eyes, and Mick couldn’t have looked smaller if he tried, hunched over, his hands clasped together, his eyes downcast. The air was thick with tension, suffocating them.

 

“Why did you do it?” Charles repeated his first question again, the need for answers so strong, the need to understand how he could have smiled and laughed and joked with him, all the while harbouring an ulterior motive. His desperation made his limbs feel numb, and his heart heavy.

 

“Please promise me you’ll listen to everything I have to say,” Mick asked him, sitting on the bed, looking up at Charles who stayed standing, folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t say yes; he didn’t think he owed him that.

 

“I-I’m a journalist,” he began and to Charles, that explained everything he needed to know, but Mick continued, “My boss got wind of a press conference that was going to take place at the palace, and he wanted to see if we could get a heads up on what it was about, so he sent me and some of the other junior reporters into Monte Carlo a day early. I don’t know what he thought we would find out, none of the locals knew anything, palace security wouldn’t dare speak to us. So I was on my way back to the hotel when I saw you by the side of the road. I didn’t know it was you until I stopped, and I-I thought, maybe I could get something better than an advance report of what the press conference was about. It’s nearly impossible to get anything exclusive from you and your brothers, or anything personal, so I told my boss I was working on something better. That I would get a story from you.

 

And yes I was trying to do that at first, but pretty soon I realised you were just some kid like me. And I liked you, it didn’t feel so right to use you for a story. My boss called me just after the car broke down and I thought I could tell him I had the advance on the press conference – I figured out that was about your marriage after you told me – b-but he wasn’t interested in that anymore.

 

I did try to change my mind, to get things from you I could write about. But it just felt more wrong the more I spoke to you. Nothing I told you after then was a lie, I swear, I liked you. And not the you that was some big shot prince. I only knew Charles. I just couldn’t think of a way to tell you the truth. 

 

When we were on the train, while you were sleeping, I told him I was done. That I wasn’t going to exploit you. He didn’t like it. He fired me. But I told him he had to pay for the car, and now the hotel, that my contract said my expenses would be covered. That’s why I sent him the name of the hotel. I don’t know why I didn’t think he would use that. You stumbling out of some seedy hotel with a random guy, the morning before you were due to give a press conference, is a better story than any truths I could have given him.

 

It was stupid of me, really fucking stupid. I just didn’t think. I’ll fix it though; I’ll figure something out. The last thing I wanted to do was make your life more difficult, I promise.”

 

By the time he finished speaking he had stood up and was holding his hands out to Charles, like he wanted to reach out and take his, but he held back. Mick’s eyes were shining with earnest unshed tears, and Charles felt a pang of pity. But he was too confused, too conflicted, to know how he should feel.

 

It was true that Mick had started this from a lie, but that didn’t mean it was all meaningless, and the fact that he had tried to stop it must have meant something. It wasn’t his fault that his boss had taken advantage of him. He was still the same man whose laugh drew Charles in every time he heard it, who had raised his spirits when he felt like packing it in, and who had found the sense of adventure in him.

 

Charles couldn’t quite shake the feeling of betrayal, that another person had thought they could use him. Sure, that had changed once he got to know Charles, but what if he hadn’t? What if Mick was just like everyone else deep down?

 

“I’m really sorry Charles,” Mick whispered, an apology so heartfelt, Charles couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around him, pulling him into a hug, letting him grab onto the backs of his shoulders. Mick wasn’t like anyone else. He knew that much for certain.

 

“It’s alright,” he whispered into the side of Mick’s head, though he didn’t know if that was true. Mick held onto him tight, and Charles could feel him trembling gently, whether it was in relief that Charles did not hate him, or the effect of telling him everything, he did not know.

 

“Actually there is one other thing,” Mick said, pulling away, resting his hands on Charles’ upper arms. Now that he had pulled away, Charles could see that a few tears had escaped from his eyes, dampening his cheeks.

 

“What?” he asked, though he didn’t think he could take anymore revelations.

 

“Betsch is my mother’s maiden name, my real surname is Schumacher.”

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Charles laughed, it was hardly the same as him choosing to withhold his surname.

 

“I don’t know,” Mick shook his head, a small smile reappearing on his face, “I just felt like I had to lie.”

 

Charles felt himself relax a little though they still faced the problem of the crowds of the press waiting for him outside. Even though he had practically only just woken up, he felt drained already.

 

“Well, Mick _Schumacher_ ,” he emphasised the surname, “You can help me get out of here without being spotted. Pierre has sent the plane to Linate airport, so we need to get there, somehow.”

 

“Maybe you should get dressed first?” Mick suggested, glancing down at Charles’ bare torso, removing his hands from his arms, placing them behind his back.

 

“Yeah maybe.”


	6. i won't pretend to understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this chapter is not my best, it's barely been checked over - I just really wanted to get it posted before I went on holiday. I won't have internet or much time for writing so (if anyone does read this) don't expect an update for a couple of weeks :) but enjoy this nonetheless!

While Charles had stood under the running water that had barely enough pressure to make him feel clean, he tried desperately to think of some way out of the hotel, a route that avoided the front of the building. It was impossible to say what was out back, and whether there was even in a way to get there. All he knew was that he couldn’t go down to the reception, in full view of the street outside.

 

The tepid water trickled down his face, his hands rubbing, like he could scrub himself clean with just the bar of hotel soap, which he very much doubted had many anti-bacterial properties. He stared at the foggy glass, his eyes getting lost in the patterns that the thick air had made, broken up by drops of water that had bounced off his skin.

 

He knew Mick would be sat in the room, going over the events of the day so far as he was. It was barely nine o’clock and Charles already felt like he’d run a marathon, there was too much for his mind to process. The past twenty-four hours or so had been more than his brain could handle. He was surprised he hadn’t completely shut down by now, so completely overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

 

As strange as it had been. He didn’t know how he could return to the way things had been, to the way his life had always been. He had never hated it; he didn’t hate the idea of it even now. He just knew that, somehow, he wasn’t the same person he had been a day ago. How could he pretend to be the same when everything in him screamed to let people know he wasn’t? Even if they couldn’t see it, Charles could feel it. There was a certainty within him, that no matter what he did when he returned to Monaco, things were going to change. A large part of that was down to Mick, but he didn’t know how to explain that, like so many things it seemed.

 

Stepping out of the shower, he shivered as the cool air hit his skin, wrapping a thin towel around his middle, which did nothing to stop the goosebumps from making their way up his arms. Wiping one hand across the condensation covered mirror he cringed a little at the sight of his reflection, he looked tired, and hungry, and thirsty, all things he felt. But the frown of disapproval turned into a small smile, a laugh bubbling up his throat, and not for the first time, he was amused and disbelieving at the bizarre situation he had got himself in.

 

Once he was dressed, the day old clothes feeling strange and slightly dirty against his skin, he walked back out into the bedroom, still drying his hair haphazardly with the towel.

 

“Had any bright ideas of an escape plan?” Mick asked him, looking up. He hadn’t moved from the bed in the time Charles had been showering. Though he had kicked off his shoes, and was now sitting with his feet tucked underneath him, legs crossed.

 

“Not one that doesn’t involve jumping from the skylight, and I don’t really fancy that.”

 

“And I couldn’t possibly take responsibility for killing someone who is second in line to the throne of Monaco,” Mick quipped as Charles threw the towel down on the bed, raising his eyebrow at the German as he did so.

 

“Is this what we’re joking about now? Me and my place in the line of succession,” Charles asked, only half serious.

 

“After restraining myself, I think I’ve earned it. So yes, yes we are,” Mick said, smiling as he did so, moving up so Charles could sit beside him.

 

“You’re an idiot,” he snorted, giving him a half hearted shove on the arm.

 

“Yeah but I’m the idiot that’s going to get you out of here,” Mick shot back, standing up with the expression of a man who has just had his light bulb moment.  There was a wide, satisfied grin on his face, a triumphant air around him.

 

“You have an idea?” Charles asked, craning his neck so he could look up at Mick.

 

“It’s a pretty stupid idea, but it’s an idea nonetheless,” Mick nodded, picking up Charles’ jacket from the floor and throwing it at him, “Don’t forget your phone.”

 

Reaching behind him, Charles picked up his phone, seeing that it was just minutes from dying, and stuffed it into his pocket. Fully aware that it would be dead by the time they reached the airport. If they ever did that was. Mick was on his way to the door, and grabbed Charles by the hand, pulling them out of the room and down the corridor. They left behind an untidy room, the bed clothes strewn, their old pizza box lying on the floor, the crusts of their pizza still inside.

 

He only let go of Charles’ hand when they reached the lift, so he could press the button to go downstairs. The rickety lift doors creaked open, a noise that did not inspire confidence in the two of them. But they got inside anyway, and Mick pressed the button for the first floor.

 

“Not the ground floor?” Charles asked, frowning in confusion.

 

“No they’ll see us from there.”

 

The lift managed to make it down, groaning as it did so, and they exited into a corridor remarkably similar to the one they had stayed on. Mick led the way, seeming to know where he was going, and Charles could only follow. He stopped rather suddenly when they reached a set of alcoves, one of either side of the corridor, each with a window, the one on the left facing onto the street outside, the one on the right out the back of the hotel. Distantly, it was possible to make out the sound of commotion, presumably from the press that Pierre had said were stationed outside.

 

Mick placed a hand on Charles’ chest, stopping him from joining him by the window.

 

“I just want to check no one is out there,” he explained, scanning the scene in front of him, “Yeah it’s alright.”

 

Charles leaned so he could get a good look, and saw the rather underwhelming sight of the staff car park and the bins out the back of the kitchen, the black bags piled high around them. The car park was separated from the road that ran along the back of the hotel by a large gate, which clearly required a passcode to get in and out of.

 

“Ok now what do we do?” Charles asked moving so he could see Mick, but thanks to the proximity of their faces he only had to turn a fraction before his nose brushed against his cheek.

 

“We jump,” Mick said, as though it was obvious.

 

“I was only kidding about that!” Charles exclaimed, alarmed, worried the German had suddenly lost his mind. He looked again, and while they were lower than they had been, he didn’t fancy his chances. He had never been renowned for his acrobatic prowess.

 

“If we lower ourselves from the ledge first, it’s not so bad,” he shrugged as though to say ‘do you have a better idea?’. Charles did not.

 

He watched as Mick wrenched the window open, the old frame reluctant to budge. Eventually he managed to open it just enough so they could each slide out, but it would be a squeeze. Even now his face was a little sceptical, but impressively he didn’t vocalise his reservations and instead lifted one leg, followed by the other, then tentatively manoeuvred his body so he was sitting on the ledge, his feet dangling.

 

“Careful,” Charles warned instinctively as he watched Mick try to turn himself around so he could lower himself by his arms.

 

“Don’t worry princess,” Mick winked, but Charles could see the shake of his arms as he struggled to hold his body weight. To his credit he did manage to hold himself for long enough so he was hanging from the ledge, the ground still an uncomfortably long way beneath him.

 

Mick hesitated for a moment, readying himself. Then he dropped.

 

Charles peered down to see him land unsteadily, falling forward onto his hands, but otherwise his plan had gone smoothly. For himself at least. Dusting himself off, Mick sent a thumbs up his way, which Charles took as his cue.

 

Feeling more than a little apprehensive, he copied what Mick had done, only appreciating how high up they were when he was sitting on the ledge looking down. Mick gave him an encouraging smile, but it didn’t comfort him much. Still there was no going back.

 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he attempted to lower himself as much as possible, to minimise the distance between himself and the hard ground below. Stretched to his fingertips, Charles closed his eyes, his only thought a reminder to bend his knees. And he let go.

 

He landed far sooner than he thought he would, the impact knocking him onto his back, his elbows grazing as he tried to break his fall. He only opened his eyes when he felt like the world had stopped spinning, and when he did he saw Mick looking down on him, grinning once again.

 

“See not so hard right?”

 

“Yeah sure,” Charles scoffed, accepting Mick’s outstretched hand, feeling the scrapes on his palms where he had hit the floor.

 

“Now we have the gate,” Mick pointed to the end of the car park, “Or the wall, whichever you prefer.”

 

“Who knew this was so exhausting?” Charles said, very much looking forward to the thought of sitting in the familiar, comfortable interior of the family jet. If they could make it there without being spotted.

 

“You’ve never done something like this before?” Mick asked as they walked the length of the car park, “Even I’ve snuck out before, and I didn’t really have much stopping me doing what I liked, unlike you.”

 

“Never felt the urge,” Charles shrugged honestly.

 

“God you’re so boring,” Mick rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out.

 

Scaling the wall was a little easier, maybe because he could use the uneven brickwork for hand and foot holds, so he didn’t have to jump again. But it when they hit the ground, that’s when the troubles started.

 

“Hey! Charles!” someone yelled to their left, and the two of them glanced over to see a lone photographer stood on the street corner, an oversized camera in hand. He looked overjoyed at his sighting, and was gesticulating to someone round the corner.

 

“Run,” Mick shouted, and Charles didn’t need telling twice.

 

The two of them set off at a sprint, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the photographer as they could. If they had hung around Charles would have bet it wouldn’t have been long before he would have been joined by any number of journalists and photographers.

 

His heart thumped in his chest, torn between the desperate urge to look back, but knowing he couldn’t afford to. He didn’t even know how the two of them managed to keep up their pace for so long. Pure adrenaline fired through his veins, born of fear and slight exhilaration. He was glad Mick could remember the way back to the piazza where the train station was, the crowds of people offering cover, but also making it harder to run when they were avoiding pedestrians and traffic.

 

Charles wasn’t thinking about the strange looks the two of them were probably getting, or that anyone else could be recognising him. He just kept his eyes on the back of Mick’s head, following him as he dived into the first empty taxi they found, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

“Milan Linate airport please,” he gasped, leaning forward so the driver could hear what he was saying between his ragged breaths.

 

The man nodded and set off, navigating his way through the Italian inner city traffic.

 

Mick had fallen back against the seat, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in time with the wheezing that had replaced his normal breathing. Eyes still closed he reached out and put his hand on Charles’ arm.

 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say, and it took Charles a minute to realise what he was talking about.

 

That was, before he remembered and realised that photos of the two of them would probably be plastered across every gossip rag in Europe by tomorrow morning. With a groan, filled with the dread of someone who knew they had really fucked up, Charles placed his head in his hands.

 

“Nico is going to kill me,” he whispered, “I’m so stupid.”

 

“No, no you’re not. They might not have even got a photo, so he can’t even prove that he saw you,” Mick was clearly trying to reassure Charles, but it wasn’t working very well. He was too annoyed at himself to take in anything the German was saying. That awful feeling of the combined urge to vomit and cry returned to him again.

 

He couldn’t even comprehend all the things had had just ruined, not just for himself, but for his brothers too, he had never ever been the one to stir up trouble or put anything important in jeopardy. For as long as he could remember he had always been aware of what was at stake for him, and why that meant he had to be careful. But all that had gone to shit.

 

“Stop the car,” he said suddenly, hitting the driver’s seat to get his attention, probably a little too hard, “Stop the car now!”

 

A sudden feeling of numbness had overcome him, his pulse hadn’t slowed down since they set off running, and seemed to be hammering in his chest so hard that the rushing of blood was all he could hear. With his sweaty, shaking hands he wrenched open the door the minute he felt the driver come to a stop. Even before he could get both his feet out the car he felt his body heave, and he very ungracefully emptied the entire contents of his stomach into the gutter.

 

There was a hand on his back as he felt another shudder of nausea, but considering he hadn’t eaten anything yet, all he did was retch, coughing slightly. He stayed hunched over for a few moments longer, just to make sure he wasn’t going to throw up again.

 

“You okay?” he heard Mick ask over his shoulder, his voice small.

 

“Yeah I’m okay,” he answered, his voice hoarse.

 

Charles wiped at his mouth with a grimace, his throat and and eyes burning, before pulling himself back inside the car, slamming the door shut.

 

"Here," the driver said in Italian, and Charles looked up to see he was holding a bottle of water of his shoulder, offering it to him.

 

"Thank you," he said weakly, feeling both embarrassed and guilty. Though for all the driver knew, he could have just felt travel sick. Mick would not be under the same impression. That thought somehow made him feel worse.

 

He took a length gulp from the bottle, avoiding glancing at the man to his right who was still looking at him with concern, presumably worried about his quite extreme reaction to their current predicament. In truth Charles had surprised himself, but he was struggling to comprehend the enormity of everything that had happened, and he supposed his body had just shut down too.

 

"Sorry," he mumbled, still not looking at Mick, feeling sweat clinging to his forehead and palms; the water helping settling him only a little. He couldn't shake the feeling of pure anxiety, it settled on the back of his neck, uncomfortable and invasive.

 

"Don't be," he heard Mick say, and felt him reach out again, this time his hand settling on his shoulder, by the crook of his neck. Charles finally turned to look at him, pushing aside his shame, and saw the small smile on Mick's face.

 

"I won't pretend to understand, but I know it can't be easy. All the scrutiny and pressure."

 

Charles felt himself leaning into Mick's hand, taking comfort from the small gesture, and his words. They sat like that for a while, Mick's thumb gently stroking the back of Charles' neck, the ends of his hair tickling the skin of his finger, the movement managing to calm him somewhat. It was mindless, and it distracted him from everything else that was making his head spin.

 

“Thank you,” he mouthed, not wanting to speak, like words might break the moment, and spoil this bit of peace he had found and desperately wanted to keep.

 

“It’s ok,” Mick mouthed back, a small smile playing on his lips.

 

Over the course of the car journey, they drifted apart at some point, both of their heads leaning on the car windows, resting, though they hadn’t been awake long. Eventually they pulled up outside a small airport, compromised of a single runway, an old terminal building, the air traffic control tower placed precariously next to it. There were a few commercial aeroplanes sat on the tarmac, and even from where he was sat Charles could spy his family’s private jet, a sight he took in with a warming heart.

 

He reached for his pocket before remembering that his wallet had been taken from him the night before.

 

“It’s okay, I got it,” Mick said, pulling a couple of euros from his own pocket and placing them in the taxi driver’s hand.

 

“I’m really sorry again,” Charles apologised, his cheeks burning as he remembered his display earlier, but the driver just waved him off, as though it was of no concern.

 

The two of them stood by the side of the road for a moment as the taxi drove off, but when Charles went to make his way towards the runway, Mick hung back.

 

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked, turning back to see him stood awkwardly, like he didn’t no what to do.

 

“I don’t know if I should,” he shrugged, shuffling his feet in a sign of nervousness. Maybe he felt he had intruded on Charles for too long, but if anything Charles felt he owed him rather a lot. And he was by no means ready to say goodbye. Or perhaps it was the thought of entering a world alien to his that made him anxious.

 

“Of course you should,” Charles nodded, “Besides how else will you get back to Nice?”

 

Mick opened his mouth, looking like wanted to disagree, but closed it again, obviously finding no argument. He finally fell into step beside Charles, the two of them making the long trek onwards.


	7. i'll be fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! The final chapter! This is the longest story I've ever written so I'm pretty proud of that. If anyone actually reads this I hope you enjoy it :)

From the moment they both stepped on to the plane, Charles didn’t think he’d stopped smiling at Mick. His facial expression kept switching from delight to awe, but never once did he considered him out of place. He waltzed onto that plane and took his seat like he had done it a thousand times before, seamlessly blending in with this environment so unlike his own. Charles had a feeling that was just the way Mick was.

 

“This is just a little bit mental,” Mick declared, popping a peanut into his mouth from the small glass dish that rested next to his leather seat. They were both strapped in, facing each other, waiting for take-off – which they had been told would be taking place imminently.

 

Charles felt his phone buzz in his back pocket, and thought it might be an alert telling him that his battery had finally died, but he looked at it to see a message from Pierre. Opening it he saw it was a photograph, and one of Charles at that.

 

He immediately knew what it was. The photographer which had spotted them round the back of the hotel had clearly found time to snap one image; Charles in the foreground, staring towards the camera, eyes wide, shock written across his features. The saving grace was that the focus was on him, Mick was only a blurred shock of blond hair in the background, facing the other direction. Pierre hadn’t sent the accompanying article (if there was one), just a text consisting only of a string of question marks.

 

“What is it?” Mick asked, peanut caught between two of his fingers, hovering just before his lips, a quizzical expression on his face.

 

“Nothing,” Charles shook his head, quickly typing a text to tell Pierre he was on the plane and would explain later. After his earlier panic above the colossal mess he had made for himself, he had pushed it from his mind, and would only think about it when he was home with his brothers, and people who knew what they were talking about when it came to things like that.

 

Right on cue he felt the rumble of the engine beneath him, and out of the small circular window he could see the scenery pass them by as the plane made its way towards the runway. In some ways, after the madness of the past few hours, it felt comforting to be back in familiar surroundings. But something about it sat badly with him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

 

“You know, if you really want to run away, we could swap lives, Trading Places style. I wouldn’t mind having a private jet and living in a palace, you could have lots of fun living my newly unemployed life at home in Switzerland,” Mick said, just as the plane took off.

 

“I don’t think that would go down very well,” Charles snorted, “We don’t exactly look the same, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

 

“Oh I have,” Mick replied quickly, the comment seemingly offhand so Charles couldn’t quite figure out what he meant, but he knew it made him feel a little hot under the collar, “Besides, Switzerland is lovely this time of year.”

 

Charles nodded, noncommittally, settling back in his seat so he could watch the Italian landscape grow smaller and smaller beneath them as they reached cruising altitude. The flight was short, barely an hour long, and even by the time they had landed Charles hadn’t thought about what he was going to tell Pierre and Nico. Mick had distracted him most of the way by trying to show off by throwing and catching the peanuts in his mouth – but mostly failing to do so successfully – and by coaxing Charles into sharing stupid embarrassing stories from his childhood. Most of the stories involved Pierre’s antics at the expense of Charles’ suffering. In fairness, Mick told his own in return, but he seemed less embarrassed about the time he set fire to his father’s car while he was trying to ‘fix’ it at the tender age of eight.

 

It wasn’t as hot in Nice as it had been previously, but Charles still felt himself break out into a sweat when he stepped onto the runway tarmac, Mick jumping off the steps to land beside him. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Charles could just make out a car and a figure walking towards the plane, but only when he was within touching distance could he see that it was Pierre, wearing an expression of tender annoyance.

 

“You’re an idiot Charles,” he muttered, pulling him into a tight hug, that Charles returned with a fervour that surprised himself. It was easier to feel younger, stupider and more naïve now that his big brother was there, “And you smell disgusting.”

 

Pierre pulled away wrinkling his nose, eying Charles up and down, showing his distaste at his day old sweaty clothes. Charles couldn’t blame him for that. He was in desperate need of a shower and a fresh t-shirt.

 

“What happened to your nose?” Pierre asked, and Charles reached his hand up to touch it, confused as to what he was referring to, before remembering that it was probably still bruised after his run in with the wallet thief the previous day. He just shrugged, and was about to tell him it didn’t matter, but he saw that his brother’s attention had already been taken by Mick, who was shrinking under his gaze. Before Pierre could say something that might offend Mick, Charles jumped in.

 

“This is Mick by the way,” he struggled to find the words to explain who he was and how he knew him, but that was a lot to pack into one sentence, “He helped me out while I was…away.”

 

Pierre snorted, but he did shoot a small smile in Mick’s direction, which seemed to ease him a little – though he must have been wondering what was being said between the two brothers, his lack of knowledge of the French language leaving him clueless. Charles tried to smile at him reassuringly, but after the private jet, and now being under the scrutiny of Pierre, he looked a little lost.

 

“Were you going to head back to Nice?” Charles asked him in English, trying to bring him back into the conversation.

 

“I was, but I think it might just be better to go back home. I’m not sure my boss will let me use the hotel room considering, well, he isn’t my boss anymore,” Mick shrugged, running his hands through his hair.

 

“There’s flights to Switzerland from Nice I’m sure,” Charles said, looking to his brother for confirmation.

 

“Not until tomorrow,” Pierre chipped in, and Charles watched Mick deflate.

 

“It’s okay, you can stay with us until you can fly home,” Charles decided immediately, though both Pierre and Mick looked like they wanted to disagree.

 

“Charles I couldn’t,” Mick protested, shaking his head.

 

“I owe you, if not for everything else, then at least for the hotel. You paid remember?”

 

Pierre opened his mouth, but Charles cut across him, overruling and shutting down his brother, for probably the first time in their lives.

 

“He stays with us,” he spoke in a way that left no doubt that his words were final. To his pleasant surprise, Pierre didn’t argue.

 

“Come on then,” he motioned towards the car that sat several feet away, the front door still open. Mick hesitated for a moment, still looking unsure about the idea of going home with the two brothers. But Charles wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

Mick seemed to sense that the two brothers had a lot to talk about, and duly got into the front passenger seat next to the driver, while Pierre and Charles took their ordinary seats in the back of the car. The pristine leather interior and ample leg room felt almost foreign to Charles after the previous car rides in cramped quarters, even the faint smell of Nico’s aftershave and Pierre’s cigarettes settled on his skin uncomfortably. He couldn’t even imagine how Mick felt. There was a bitter kind of irony in how he had taken the seat next to the driver, the seat that Charles had been taught not to sit in. But he was already busy chatting away with their chauffer about the car, a sight that made Charles smile.

 

“Ok spill,” Pierre demanded as soon as the doors were shut and the engine started.

 

With a deep breath, Charles launched into the tale of everything since he had climbed over the palace wall. He tried not to go into the details, particularly not of his reasoning behind it all, he wasn’t sure he could explain it, though he knew he would have to try to vocalise his thoughts at some point. But he did tell Pierre about the man in the restaurant with the photograph of the three brothers, which made him smile, and he tried to downplay the mugging incident, but that didn’t stop his older brother from scowling, his hands curling into fists. Most of all, Charles omitted any mention of what Mick had done from his tale, and he definitely didn’t tell Pierre that he was a journalist and had initially harboured less than honourable intentions. He knew his brother wouldn’t be able to see past his mistakes, even if Charles had.

 

“Shit Charles,” Pierre said with a low whistle when he had finally finished speaking. He had a look on his face which said he knew he should be disapproving, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

 

“I’m not sure Nico will feel the same,” Charles frowned, wishing his eldest brother would be so relaxed about it all. He might have been, if it were not for the photographs of him sneaking out of a hotel in Milan, and the media shitstorm that would inevitably create.

 

“He’ll be too relieved to see you home, use that. Just pout a lot, it makes you look twelve, that’ll soften him up,” Pierre suggested, shrugging, prompting Charles to laugh. Mick looked round at the sound, gazing over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised to ask if everything was alright, Charles just nodded, smiling lightly. Of course, the German wouldn’t have known what was being said by either of them, but Charles hoped he could convey that he hadn’t dropped him in it without having to say so.

 

“Does Nico know I’m on my way back?” Charles asked his brother, tearing his gaze away from Mick.

 

“He knows you were coming back soon, he’s cancelled everything for the day, so he’ll be in his office. Wearing holes in the floor with his pacing no doubt,” Pierre shook his head as though Nico’s worry despaired him, but Charles knew from the look on his face when he’d stepped off the plane that he had felt the exact same way.

 

The thought of facing Nico made Charles nervous. Whether it was because it meant facing a lecture, or because he felt so bad for worrying him, he didn’t know. The sizeable age gap between the two of them meant Nico always felt the need to protect his youngest brother, and Charles knew that, which is why he knew he would be blaming himself for the mess that was all of Charles’ making. The churning guilt began to gnaw at his stomach, brining on a wave of nausea.

 

Far too soon, the car pulled into the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the tyres as it came to a stop. Mick let himself out of the car, while the chauffer opened the door for Pierre, whom Charles followed out.

 

“You go see Nico, I’ll take Mick here to get a shower and some clean clothes,” Pierre said in English, nudging Mick who had been staring up at the grandiose building with an open mouth. He looked a little affronted at the comment, once his attention had been drawn away from the palace in front of him.

 

“I thought you said Pierre was the nice one,” Mick muttered, making Pierre laugh out loud.

 

“Aw Charles, I always knew I was your favourite brother,” he cooed, still laughing, ruffling Charles’ hair, which he hurried to smooth down.

 

“I’ll see you guys later,” Charles rolled his eyes, heading one way as the other two went in the opposite direction. Mick shot him a semi-pained look, clearly not overly enthralled at the idea of being left alone with Pierre. And if Charles knew his brother at all, he knew his new friend was in for a grilling, He just winked in reply, before turning and setting off in the direction of Nico’s office.

 

Once he reached the door he paused for a moment, stealing himself before he knocked twice and let himself into the room quickly, before he could panic and talk himself out of it. Nico was stood with his back to the door when Charles entered, the ocean visible through the window he was gazing out of, the only sound in the room the ticking of the grandfather clock which stood in the corner of the room. At the sound of the door clicking shut Nico turned around, his face positively melting in relief when he saw it was his younger brother who had walked in. Charles felt another lurch of guilt in his gut at that expression.

 

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ , scare me like that again Charles,” Nico grunted as he marched over, the emotion audible in his voice even through his gritted teeth. He pulled Charles into a bone crushing hug, one that squeezed almost all the air out of him, and he was struck by the same feeling he had when Pierre had embraced him back on the tarmac of the runway. He hugged his brother back, grabbing onto the back of his shirt, and he could feel himself let go of some of his anxieties over the predicament he had made for himself, knowing Nico was there to patch things up.

 

“I’m really sorry Nico,” he whispered, cringing when he heard the teary way in which his voice wobbled.

 

“It’s okay. We’ll fix this,” Nico replied, and Charles believed him unfailingly.

 

They broke apart and Charles felt like crying himself when he saw his older brother wiping his eyes.

 

“But first you have to tell me what happened.”

 

Charles launched into the same story he had told Pierre, telling it in very much the same way. Nico didn’t react as much, even when Charles told him how he’d lost his wallet, or about the photographs of him in Milan – though he suspected Nico already knew about that. He didn’t even question Mick’s involvement, or argue with him staying at the palace until he could fly home. But in his eyes Charles could seem his brain working overtime, running through every possible solution, and course of damage control he knew.

 

“And this was all because of the engagement announcement?” Nico asked, though really he didn’t need to, Charles knew he had already worked it out.

 

“Well, not really. I mean,” Charles struggled to find a way to explain himself, “…Yes.”

 

“But we already discussed all of this months ago, you could have said something for so long.”

 

“I know, I thought I understood and was fine with it. But I guess I wasn’t. It was stupid I know,” Charles lowered his gaze, unable to see that soft look of disappointment.

 

“Well you won’t have to worry about that. The offer’s retracted, after the press conference got cancelled. Everyone thought you had cold feet, so they thought they’d save you the trouble of having to back out.”

 

Charles felt another stab of guilt, remembering how hard Nico had worked on those negotiations, how much it meant to him, and how much Monaco had needed it. It must have showed on his face, because Nico reached out and pulled him into another embrace.

 

“No listen,” he said sternly, before Charles could even being to utter another apology, “I was wrong. You were too young for this. And I don’t mean that badly. I just mean you deserve to live your own life for a little while before you go off selling your soul for your country yet. It might have been what was best for me, but it wasn’t what was best for you. I should have seen that.”

 

In that moment, Nico’s words reminded him of everything Mick had been saying, about doing what he wanted to do, and not living for others. And the wave of relief he felt at his brother’s words just confirmed that those exact words were what he wanted to hear, and that he could never have gone through with it.

 

“Thank you,” he said in a small voice, but before he could relax completely another thought occurred to him, “But what about the photos?”

 

If they were circulating on the internet already, it wouldn’t be long before all sorts of rumours and stories would be attached to them.

 

“We’ll think of something,” Nico assured him, “I think you should probably go clean up before we do anything else.”

 

“Yeah, good idea,” Charles agreed, the idea of a nice warm shower appealing to him immensely.

 

Charles took the route he knew by heart from Nico’s office to his room and bathroom, but he opened the door to find that there was someone in there already. Mick lay on one side of the bed, his arms and legs sprawled out, wearing a t-shirt and pair of blue jeans that Charles recognised as his own. The jeans had been turned up several times so they sat around his ankles rather than over the ends of his feet, the t-shirt fit him a little better, and it sparked an odd sensation in Charles that he couldn’t quite identify.

 

“Oh hi!” Mick said, springing up off the bed, looking like he’d been caught daydreaming. His hair was still wet, the water dripping down the back of his neck, “Sorry, Pierre said it would be ok if I borrowed your clothes. They don’t fit very well though.”

 

He laughed as he lifted up one leg of the jeans, showing how long it was on him.

 

“You look fine,” Charles smiled taking in the sight of Mick standing in the room he had grown up in, it was jarring, but not unpleasant.

 

“Just fine?” Mick asked, clearly joking, but something about his tone made Charles blush, that, and the smile on his face.

 

Charles coughed, trying to compose himself, walking over to his wardrobe so he could find some fresh clothes.

 

“I’m just going to shower and change,” he said, pointing towards the bathroom door.

 

“By all means. I’m just going to stare out of this window and survey the kingdom,” Mick said with a flourish towards the curtains.

 

“I mean, technically it’s only a principality,” Charles shrugged.

 

“Oh go and get your shower Mr Pedantic,” Mick stuck his tongue out, waving Charles away with a laugh.

 

Even when Charles emerged from the shower, feeling much better now that he was washed and dressed in clothes that didn’t smell like sweat and cold pizza, Mick was still stood by the window, leaning against the window frame, arms folded. Like he had when Charles had entered the room, he looked deep in thought, seemingly oblivious to the long curtain that was wafting in the breeze, tapping against his face as it did so. He seemed to sense Charles looking at him because he turned, a slightly dazed look on his face, still squinting from looking out into the sunshine.

 

“I want to show you something,” Charles said; an idea had come to him while he was showering, and the two of them had time to kill before dinner.

 

“A surprise?” Mick asked, his interest clearly piquing.

 

“Yeah, come on.”

 

Charles motioned for him to follow and led him from his room, down the corridor and together they began to descend a long set of spiral stairs.

 

“Wait,” Charles said when they were almost at the bottom, jumping up so he was on the same step as Mick, “Close your eyes.”

 

“Do you want me to fall down the stairs?” Mick asked incredulously, looking at Charles as though he was mad.

 

“I got you, it’s okay,” Charles nodded reassuringly, and Mick relented, screwing his eyes shut and letting Charles lead him by the hand down the rest of the stairs and through a door.

 

Once they were inside, Charles placed his palms over Mick’s eyes, and guided him forward a few steps more.

 

“Okay you can open your eyes.”

 

When Mick did he saw that they’d entered a cavernous garage, filled with rows and rows of cars, and a few scooters and motorcycles as well. The four stone walls and ceiling made his small ‘ _wow_ ’ echo, a sound followed by his footsteps as he made his way to the nearest car, stooping to admire it more closely.

 

“Holy shit Charles. _This_ is properly mental,” he said, turning to look at the man who stood a few paces back, watching his awe with satisfaction.

 

“I remember you said you liked cars. I thought you might want to see it.”

 

“Too right.”

 

Charles gave Mick some space as he made his way along the rows, just enjoying watching the expression on his face as he studied the vehicles with a keen interest. Neither of them said anything, until he reached the very last row.

 

“That one is mine,” Charles pointed at the vintage Fiat 500, the clean bodywork shining a brilliant white, “And the scooter too.”

 

“Cute,” Mick grinned, nodding with his seal of approval, “Whose are all the others?”

 

“Some are Pierre’s and Nico’s. The rest are just part of the collection that we hire out to exhibitions and stuff.”

 

“Can I get in?” he asked, and clearly the question had been on the tip of his tongue for a while. Charles just laughed at his eagerness.

 

“Yeah sure. Which one?”

 

Mick was immediately drawn to the bright red Ferrari that sat a few spaces away from Charles’ own car. It was the kind of flashy car that screamed out for attention, and Charles recognised it as one that usually prompted people to pull out their cameras and call over their friends. Mick duly took his place in the driver’s seat, so he got in beside him, reaching over and fishing out the keys from the glove compartment so he could hand them to Mick.

 

“But not another unsanctioned road trip, ok?” Charles warned, only half joking, and he watched as Mick turned the keys in the ignition and the engine started with a satisfying roar, the car rumbling beneath them.  They both sat for a moment, enjoying the feeling, before Mick revved the engine lightly, with the touch of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. He repeated the motion a couple more times, the noise reverberating off the walls, filling the large garage.

 

“You sure we can’t take her out?” Mick asked, batting his eyelashes at Charles, which was endearing, but after everything that had happened, he knew better than to give in. Despite how appealing it might have been to escape again, especially after his taste of life on the outside.

 

“Unfortunately, I’m sure,” Charles pouted, matching the pleading expression of the man sat next to him, making them both laugh. It felt a little like they were back in Mick’s car, after they’d just met, and it certainly didn’t feel like they were parked tens of feet underground, just below the rooms Charles had grown up in.

 

“Charles?” Mick said quietly, the prior silence filled only be the sounds of their subsiding laughter. His words didn’t sound like a question but somehow he knew it was. That look on his face wasn’t one he had seen before, neither was the glint in his eyes, nor the way he was leaning in, hand poised against the gear stick, the other still lingering on the steering wheel.

 

“Yes?” Charles answered, too quickly, too eagerly. His words sounded like a question, but they were an answer, though he didn’t know precisely what he was saying yes to. And he would never know.

 

Because the sight of his brother came into view in the corner of his eye, standing in front of the car, arms folded, a smirk on his face, looking an awful lot like he had stumbled across something that didn’t want to be found. Charles felt that way, he was sure Mick did too, but he couldn’t have said why, or what it was that had been interrupted.

 

“Dinner time boys,” he announced and Mick drew away from Charles quickly, an uncharacteristic red blush on his cheeks.

 

“Uh okay,” Charles said, he too pulling away, opening the door and getting out, followed by Mick a few seconds later.

 

“What were you two doing anyway?” Pierre asked, frowning in that knowing kind of way.

 

“I was just showing Mick the cars,” he said, quite defensively, which did not escape his brother’s notice.

 

“Okay sure,” though Pierre’s tone told him that he didn’t believe that entirely.

 

“Shut up,” Charles muttered, pushing his brother on the arm, hoping Mick hadn’t understood any of their exchange.

 

Dinner wasn’t as awkward of an affair as Charles might have imagined. Most of the talk was filled by Mick and Nico, who both had no problem with chatting about anything and everything. Pierre spent almost the entire time shooting suggestive glances Charles’ way, who tried to glare back without drawing the attention of the other people around the table. It reminded Charles of every other family dinner they’d had in recent times, like Mick had perfectly inserted himself into their trio, seamlessly blending in. Yet Charles felt like the best part about the German was that he was not part of his normality, that he was something new and exciting beyond that. Watching him talk with his eldest brother with ease, he felt like that had been stolen from him. He chewed his mouthful thoughtfully, watching the exchanges go on around him.

 

He was still going over this thought process an hour or so later when he heard a knock at his door. Evening had fallen by this point, and from his window he could make out the sight of the lights of Monte Carlo dancing on the murky waters, shimmering amongst the waves. Charles had changed for bed, trying not to think about the fact that in the morning he would have to drop Mick off at the airport, and send him on his way home to Switzerland, in all likeliness to never see him again. And he assumed it was him who had knocked on his door.

 

"Hi," he said when he opened the door to reveal, as he had suspected, Mick standing on the other side. He, like Charles, was also wearing his pyjamas; a t-shirt and set of joggers he had been given from his wardrobe. He almost looked like he'd been trying to get to sleep, his light hair sticking up in every direction, his cheeks tinged pink like he'd been lying down. It took Charles a few seconds to realise he'd been looking too long, and fought to force his gaze to the floor.

 

"I just wanted..." Mick started, before he seemed to stop the rest of the sentence from leaving his mouth, forcibly cutting himself off.

 

"Yes?" he asked, the words leaving his mouth in a quick, hushed whisper.

 

"Can I come in?" Mick finally got out.

 

"Yes," Charles nodded feeling a little like a stuck record as he stepped aside to let Mick in, shutting the door behind him.

 

For a few beats the two of them stood facing each other, the tension of everything that had passed between them since they'd met building, the undeniable spark of attraction pulling them together. Charles saw how Mick seemed to be breathing harder than usual, and he felt his own heartbeat picking up its pace.

 

“Can I-?” Mick began but Charles interrupted him as soon as he began speaking.

 

“Yes,” and he met him halfway, Mick’s hands cupping either side of his face as their lips came crashing together. Charles felt his mind get lost as he was overwhelmed by the release of all that pent up tension, the feeling of kissing Mick setting all of his nerves alight.

 

His body seemed to move of its own accord, his mind racing to catch up, as he let Mick push his back against the door, feeling hands on his neck and around his torso, and lips on his neck. Both of their movements were fervent, acting with a vigour that came from the knowledge that this might be the only time they would ever get to do this. Charles fought back a gasp as Mick attacked the skin around his collarbone with his lips, choosing to tug on his blonde hair instead.

 

His heart hammered in his chest, the sensation of rushing blood almost deafening him, all his other senses dulled as every touch sent a lightening shock through his body. It was the hand that was pulling at the buttons of the pyjama shirt he wore, the electrifying feeling where Mick’s breath fanned over his skin, and the teeth that not so lightly tugged at his bottom lip. It all left him dizzy and breathless, and even after the moment was over it would only come back to him in flashes.

 

He remembered the sound Mick made as he fell against the mattress, Charles following, cringing as their teeth clashed together, and the indecent way he had said his name, over and over again. He could recall the feeling of their slick skin moving together, hot to touch and flushed pink. But it was the memory of the look on Mick’s face as they both saw stars that would remained burned onto his mind, he couldn’t have forgotten it even if he wanted to.

 

Exhausted, their bodies aching, the two of them wrapped themselves in the sheets and each other, Charles falling soundly asleep with Mick’s body wound around his. Their closeness was why he felt so cold when he woke to find the other side of the bed absent the next morning, the empty bed seemingly stretching on for miles.

 

Ignoring the dull ache in his limbs, he sat up quickly, his head turning left and then right, as though Mick might be hiding in some corner of the room. There was a moment where he panicked that everything had just been some hyper realistic dream, and Mick was actually fast asleep next door. But there were small signs of his presence; the neatly folded clothes on the chair beside the bed and the imprint on the mattress beside him.

 

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Charles winced at the feeling of the cool floor beneath his soles, hurrying to pull on some clothes so he could make his way out of his room. Still confused about where Mick had gone, he briefly contemplated checking the guest room, before deciding that it would be more likely that he was in the dining room, eating breakfast.

 

But when he got there, the only person sat at the table was Pierre, clutching a folded piece of paper in his hand, an uncharacteristically sombre expression on his face. He handed it to Charles wordlessly as he approached, and watched his younger brother carefully as he unfolded it, somehow recognising the looping cursive writing as Mick’s, though he had never seen his writing before.

 

_Charles,_

_I guess the first thing I should say is sorry for not saying goodbye. I think I was just scared, I’ve never been any good at things like that, and I know it wouldn’t have been particularly nice for either of us. I’m sorry for being a coward but I’d rather have last night be the way you remember me. It’s selfish, but I hope you’ll remember it fondly._

 

Here Mick had drawn an exaggerated winking face, and despite himself and everything else he was feeling, Charles had to fight to keep the blush off his face as he read on.

 

_I think if things were different, then we could have had something, or been something. But we both have too much unfinished business in our own lives, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our lives are very different. I know you’d say differently, but there isn’t room or the place for me in yours._

_And that’s okay. I mean it fucking sucks. But I can live with it. I still think you’re one of the greatest people I’ve ever met, don’t ask me how I can tell, I just know these things. I’d like to have gotten to know you better, but you can’t have everything in life._

_I hope you manage to find a way to be happy, and I hope you learn how to do the things you want to do, rather than just what you think you ought to do._

_Mick_

_P.S. Please don’t ever try hitching a ride with a stranger ever again, they’re not all as dashingly handsome and kind hearted as me._

Charles snorted at the postscript, his eyes burning a little, a sad sort of smile on his face. His heart ached, and he desperately wanted to be upset at Mick, and angry that he had robbed him of a goodbye. But he understands, and he can’t blame him, because as much as he would like for it not to be the case, the chance of anything between them was near impossible. Charles’ life just didn’t work like that.

 

“He got the first flight to Zurich this morning,” Pierre explained as Charles finally looked up from the paper he held in his hands.

 

He only nodded in response, refolding the paper, taking a seat at Pierre’s right hand side, but not making a move to get any food, too consumed by his thoughts, still going over what he had just read.

 

“Are you okay?” Pierre asked, eying his brother warily.

 

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” Charles replied, snapping out of his reverie, reaching over and pouring himself a cup of coffee. But he still wore that melancholic smile.

 

It was the same smile that would appear on Mick’s face months later when he stumbled across a news article informing him that the youngest son of Monaco would be moving to America to attend Parsons School of Design.

 

It was a smile nothing like the grin on the German’s face that winter, when a postcard turned up on his desk at his new job, a tacky photograph of the Empire State Building on one side, and a New York address and telephone number scrawled on the other side.


End file.
